


If My Love is Gone for Good

by Definitely_Lost



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hadestown, Eurydice!Enjolras, F/M, Fates!Thénardiers, Feelings, Grantaire is a Mess, Hermes!Éponine, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It's jehan y'all know, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Not Beta Read, Orpheus!Grantaire, Romance, Some Fluff, Sort Of, Suffering, and also from both musicals, hades!javert, persephone!valjean, quotes from The Brick, some parts are different from actual Hadestown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 34,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Definitely_Lost/pseuds/Definitely_Lost
Summary: When he got far enough that he couldn’t feel the cold anymore, he took a minute to catch his breath. However, he was running out of steam. His stomach felt like it was about to implode from emptiness and his eyelids were heavy.Keep going, he urged himself. Enjolras is down there. He’s depending on you. You have to find him again.I’m coming, Enjolras. Wait for me.--Grantaire is a cynical musician who’s been working on a song to fix things. However, in the bitter cold and desperate times, his motivation is running low. He’s losing hope and doubting himself.The motivation he so desperately needs comes in the form of the charming Enjolras, who is new to the railroad town. Enjolras is a fighter, determined to bring about better times.Though they find strength in each other, times are still hard. The promise of freedom may just be enough to lure Enjolras away. However, the promise is not entirely truthful, and Grantaire may just be the only one who can save him.--AKA The Hadestown AU no one asked for. Some aspects of the plot are changed for the sake of the characterization. Maybe the ending will be different... who knows?Daily updates until finished.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras & Les Amis de l'ABC, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier, Javert/Jean Valjean, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome welcome! Some things to clear up before the story starts; feel free to skip, this is just some clarification. 
> 
> Javert, Valjean, Éponine, and all them will not be called gods. In Les Mis, references are made to the catholic God, so that's what will be referenced in this story, too. However, the characters will be slightly more than human. 
> 
> There is a lot of singing in Hadestown, but I was not about to write "La la la la la la la" as serious dialogue, so when I say Grantaire sings but I don't specify what he's saying, just imagine that. 
> 
> Each chapter is both titled after and based on a song from Hadestown. Not all the songs are included because not a lot happens in some songs, and some chapters will be short because the song was. 
> 
> The place is still called Hadestown. I was not about to call it 'Javerttown'. 
> 
> With that out of the way, enjoy!

Once upon a time there was a railroad line. No one truly knows where or when it existed, but we know it did because otherwise we wouldn’t have the story. See, the town surrounding this railroad line was very special. No one knows exactly how it was special, but it was. The people who lived there, well… not all of them were people. There were those of them who could be described as almost inhuman. They never tired and never got hungry. They could pass through time and space as if they were stepping from one side of a doorway to another. No one knew why. They just could. 

Among these strange people was a girl named Éponine. She was scrawny and wore gray scraps, but somehow always looked like she was exactly where she wanted to be. She had long black hair that fell around her shoulders, but she often hid it under a thatch cap. She never seemed to age, and no one had ever seen her as a child. For all we know, she might have been born looking like a young lady. She could be seen around the railroad line, and rumor was that she was the one who drove the train. She knew her way around, alright. She would appear by your shoulder to give advice at times, but when you turned around she would be on the other side of the room. She was a source of confusion for anyone who met her. 

Of course, not everyone in that town could be like her. Most people had to eat, had to sleep. These people were not living in the best conditions. Among these people was a young couple, their names were Marius and Cosette. They both liked to look on the bright side of their situation. If there was no food for the night, they would have an imaginary picnic in their living room. If there was no wood for a fire, they would dance all night to keep their body temperatures up. They accepted gifts but were often the ones to give them, being extremely generous with what they had. Being around them could make anyone smile, and they had a way of turning such a sad time into a time of togetherness and unity. 

On the opposite end of the spectrum, there was a young boy who lived in that town. His name was Gavroche. Looking at him made most people sad. He had no home and no known family, and although Éponine had taken a liking to him he often refused help or charity. He could be seen huddling by himself outside of closed buildings, hugging his thin jacket around himself in the cold. He was not very generous, but that was probably because he had nothing to be generous with. What he did manage to get, he needed it for himself to survive. However, his depressing appearance fooled many, for he was not a pathetic orphan boy who would likely be dead by the end of winter. Gavroche was resourceful and had survived year after year on his own. 

The most notable of the people in this town, for our purposes anyway, was a young man who was named Grantaire. He was young enough to be foolish and wild, but old enough to know the sufferings of the world. He had been a musician, once. An artist, if you will, a poet. He could see in the world a kind of beauty that humans had failed to destroy, and that beauty was nature. The greenery of the world, the flowers and the trees and the rivers. He was seemingly blessed by angels to make the most beautiful music you’d ever heard. People said he was a son of the muses, a child of the songs that had created the world. However, after so long living in such harsh conditions, he had lost faith in himself and in nature. His guitar lay untouched in the corner of his small house, and instead of sheet music the floor was littered with empty bottles, for Grantaire, or as he liked to be called, R, had discovered that wine was cheap in times like these and it did a wonderful job of making him forget how sorry he was. It kept him alive, and it sedated him enough that he was happy with it. After all, times were hard. 

Yes, times were very hard. They had been for years. No one knew exactly when it had happened, but things in that town and all over the world had changed. Was there someone responsible for this change? Someone in charge? No one really knew. All they did know was that work was hard to find. What they could find did not pay the bills. Things got more expensive and people got poorer. Men had started coming in on the train, wearing blue uniforms and carrying guns. Who had given these men authority? No one really knew, but authority they did have. No one wanted to be shot, so they followed orders and obeyed. The men in uniform had taken almost everything. First, they had only demanded money. Then, when people ran out of money, they demanded other things in placement. Food, clothing, even people who they sent somewhere on the train. They claimed that they were here to protect the townsfolk. From what? Who knew. But they carried guns, which meant that people listened to them. 

Now, one day Grantaire was making his way to the bar of the town. It was one of the only places still open and he visited often. It was more cheerful than his house since Marius and Cosette spent a lot of their time there. Sometimes they had Grantaire sing for them, which he didn’t like, but it meant free drinks for him, which he did like. 

He caught sight of a few men in uniform and averted his eyes. He knew that if they asked him for money he wouldn’t be allowed to refuse. So he kept away from them as much as he could, making a beeline for the bar. 

Inside the bar, the cold melted away because of both the heat of the torches and the merriness of the people; what merriness they had left. Cosette grabbed Grantaire’s hand and pulled him over to the table where Marius sat waiting. 

“R, we were wondering, have you got any new songs?” she asked cheerfully. Cosette was always smiling, and not forced smiles like Grantaire wore often, but genuine happy smiles. She said it was because she was around Marius, who she loved dearly, but Grantaire suspected it was because she was a naturally happy person. She could be broke and out of house and she would still find a way to smile. 

“Cosette, you know I don’t really write music anymore,” he said tiredly, sitting down. He waved at the barkeep to bring him a round, and turned back to Marius and Cosette. “I just lost the spirit of it.” 

“What?” Marius cried. “R, you are the greatest musician this world has ever known. What about your special song? The one that was supposed to make the flowers grow?” He hummed what he remembered of it, but Marius did not have the best sense of pitch. Grantaire struggled not to wince at his butchery of R’s music.  
“I sort of abandoned it,” he admitted. “It never worked. I never found the right melody, and it never even made weeds grow.” 

“Well, giving up isn’t going to fix that,” Cosette said. “You should keep trying to perfect it.” 

“Oh, yes, Grantaire, keep trying to fix it,” came a lazy voice from behind. Grantaire swiveled to meet a pair of murky green eyes. 

Now, there was a pair of people I neglected to mention at the beginning of this story. Their names were Thénardier. They were beings quite like Éponine. They would appear out of nowhere and disappear just as fast, the pair of them. No one ever saw them eat or sleep, yet they seemed to do an awful lot of stealing for people who didn’t need food. One would be wise to hide their possessions when the Thénardiers were about. One was a man, one was a woman. People supposed they were married, though no one knew where they had come from. No one liked them, either. They would often taunt passersby seemingly for the fun of it, and were generally rather unpleasant. One might hear their voices in their head when they were nowhere to be seen. They played devil’s advocates and never failed to show you the worst of your situation and make it seem a hundred times worse than it was. 

When Grantaire turned around to see M. Thénardier, he scowled and drew back, making sure to place a hand over his light wallet, which was thankfully still there. “What do you care about my song?” 

“Isn’t a friendly bloke such as myself allowed to inquire?” Thénardier, whose wife was mysteriously absent, was sitting on top of the table over. He wore his purple striped coat and stockings, which made him stand out quite painfully amongst the gray and brown of the rest of the bar. 

“Well, I’d prefer it if you didn’t, but if you must know, I don’t write music anymore.” Granite grabbed a bottle off the tray that was coming around and took a long swig. He looked up at Éponine, who had turned out to be the one carrying the tray, and smiled at her. They had been friends for a long while, and Éponine often came to the bar with him to drink. He had asked her why she did it when she didn’t have to, and she had replied _‘Just because I don’t have to doesn’t mean it’s not worth it’_ , and so Grantaire hadn’t questioned it again. 

Éponine shooed Thénardier away by whacking him over the head with the empty tray. “Get lost, scavenger,” she said exasperatedly. “There’s nothing to see or hear around here.” 

“If you say so,” Thénardier said, tugging on his coat sleeves. He hopped off the table and left, probably to bother someone else. 

Éponine took the fourth seat at the table, sighing. She grabbed the bottle from R and took a swig herself. “I’m beginning to tire of this whole situation,” she said mournfully, handing it back to him. 

“Tell me about it,” R agreed. “Honestly, I’ve been looking for a job for weeks now. I’ve found nothing.” 

“I keep telling you I could put a good work in for you at the textile factory,” Cosette said pointedly. She supported herself and Marius by working tirelessly as a seamstress, and although she wasn’t paid much it was more than the nothing that Grantaire was making at the moment. 

“I don’t know how to sew.” It was true, but less true than the actual truth. Grantaire knew he needed a job, but he was loath to get one. He knew he could never work at something he wasn’t passionate about, and he hadn’t been passionate about something in a very long time. 

That was about to change though, for at that moment, someone stepped into the bar. No one had ever seen this stranger before, but he wore a bright red coat which drew all eyes to him immediately. These eyes stayed glued to him, for he was a spectacle to look at. With golden hair and cerulean eyes, he shone like a second sun. He had red lips and pale skin, and his good looks were not lost on the people of the town. From their first glance, they knew this stranger would change things around there. This stranger’s name was Enjolras.


	2. Any Way The Wind Blows

Enjolras was a brave young man, a runaway from everywhere he’d ever been. He was no stranger to the world or how it worked. He was used to the dark looks he got from strangers and the cold bite of the wind at his neck. What made him different wasn’t his experience with suffering, but his attitude towards it. Enjolras was a determined young man: determined that he could change the world. He was passionate about everything he did, and his passion was a flame that could not be extinguished. This often scared the people around him, for every town he’d ever been to had not treated him well. Enjolras needed to be free, and with the world being the way it was, freedom was hard to come by. People were weary, and his fervor tired them out. No one wanted to shelter such an explosive youth. He was sure to stir up trouble no matter where he was. He was always speaking, trying to talk people into joining him, trying to find someone who could match his passion. No one was quite as set as he was on freedom. You see, many people had resigned themselves to the way things were now and didn’t believe that any one man could change it. People had no faith in Enjolras, you see. No matter how moving his speeches or how great his effort, the people would not rise with him. Thus, he had left town after town, searching for a place that would accept him. 

At this point in time, after travelling for so long, Enjolras was tired. He was hungry. He was lonely. He had lost his trust after being turned down so many times. His doubt in the human race was beginning to grow, and he was even beginning to lose faith in himself. He stumbled into the bar of that town with nothing but his red coat and his dying determination, and he dropped into a chair, ready to rest after a long walk. His legs shook a bit, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. 

Now, Grantaire had not been the first to be captured by Enjolras’ appearance. Many fell prey to the cobalt eyes and shining hair, but in the end it had turned out that Enjolras himself was more the prey in the metaphor. Yes, Enjolras had had his experiences with men before, and none of them had ended well. The golden-haired boy had never met anyone he could depend on, so he was determined not to depend on anyone. He still looked for people to lead, for crowds to inspire, but Enjolras had stopped looking for an equal who could help him along the way. He had never met anyone who could or would do that for him. Of course, he had never met anyone like Grantaire. 

The drunk poet saw the would-be-leader in red and nearly choked on his wine. The man was gorgeous, like no one Grantaire had ever seen. He was colorful in a place entirely devoid of color, and he was passionate in a place that had entirely lost all passion. Something about him gave off a different air, and Grantaire was suddenly very interested in where he had come from and what his plans were. In fact, he was suddenly very interested in anything concerning this stranger. 

Éponine saw the way Grantaire’s eyes widened at Enjolras’ entrance. She knew that look, though she had never truly experienced it before. She knew it by the way his mouth fell slightly open and by the way he let out a slow breath as though he was afraid any sound he made might scare this stranger away. She knew it by the way he leaned towards the man and tilted his head. 

Grantaire was instantly in love. 


	3. Come Home With Me

“You want to talk to him?” Éponine asked, stirring Grantaire out of his trance. 

“Yes,” Grantaire breathed. He stumbled a bit as he tried to stand, but he got to his feet without knocking over his chair. He tugged a bit of his faded green vest and readied himself to meet this stranger in red. 

“Grantaire?” Éponine called before he left.

“Yes?” 

“Don’t come on too strong,” she warned. 

Grantaire nodded and strode forward less than confidently. 

Enjolras looked up, the bags under his eyes somewhat faded with the few seconds of rest he’d gotten. He raised an eyebrow at the stranger who had just appeared by his table. 

“You are ethereally beautiful,” the man said. 

Enjolras held back a laugh. People had told him he was attractive before, but never so bluntly, nor so poetically. “Who are you?” 

“I’m the man who is in love with you,” he said.  _ Wow _ , Enjolras thought.  _ This guy moves fast.  _ “I’m Grantaire.” 

This time Enjolras couldn’t hold back a light chuckle. “I’m Enjolras.” 

“Your name is melodic,” Grantaire said breathlessly. He was fiddling with the bottle in his hands, looking quite nervous. “Like a song. Beautiful.” 

“A song? Are you a singer?” Though he was suspicious and quite cautious, Enjolras could not say he was particularly uninterested in Grantaire. He had had bad experiences with men before, but Grantaire seemed different. Genuine. 

“Yes, I’m a musician.” Grantaire took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. What was he doing? He was making a fool of himself, stumbling over his words and barely staying upright. Being under Enjolras’ gaze was like staring into the sun. But at the same time, he had gotten this far, hadn’t he? Enjolras hadn’t told him to get lost yet. He hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Maybe this wasn’t going as badly as he felt it was. “Or, I was.” 

Enjolras turned away, huffing out a laugh. “Well, Grantaire, I’m sure you’re a great guy, but I have to say that I have met a lot of men in my life, and I can’t say I’m eager to add to the list of people who’ve treated me less than well.” 

“Oh, no, I’m not like that,” Grantaire said quickly. “I’ll never treat you badly. You’re like… you shine like a light in the dark. You deserve someone who treats you like a king, a god. You deserve someone who will be devoted to you forever, in all things. Someone who will stay by your side forever. Someone you can believe in.” 

Enjolras didn’t want to admit it, but these were the words he didn’t know he had been waiting for. However, he was still less than trusting. After being beaten and betrayed by the world one too many times, he was unwilling to be taken advantage of again. “No offense, Grantaire, but you don’t look like the kind of person who believes in anything.” 

“That’s not true,” Grantaire breathed. “I believe in you.” 

_ This guy is crazy, _ Enjolras thought next.  _ Actually crazy. He’s known my name for less than five minutes.  _

But Enjolras had been looking for another believer for a long time. Maybe Grantaire wasn’t what he had expected. What he had wanted was someone who believed in freedom as much as he did. Grantaire didn’t believe in freedom, not from the looks of it. But he believed in something. That was more than Enjolras had seen in years. 

“Prove it,” Enjolras said. 


	4. Wedding Song

“What?” Grantaire asked. 

“Prove you believe in me,” Enjolras repeated. “You don’t even know me. So what about me do you believe in? Do you believe in freedom? In fixing what’s broken, in saving the world, in destroying evil and corruption? Or do you just believe in my appearance?” 

“I-” Grantaire appeared to be at a loss for words this time. “I guess I believe- Well, I just mean to say that you seem very passionate-” 

Enjolras turned away to look at his hands on the table. Just like he’d thought. Grantaire was another mindless drone, someone who had no drive or desire to see the world the way it should have been. He just liked the way Enjolras looked, and he didn’t understand that Enjolras was looking for more in life than to just survive. 

“I’m so sorry,” Grantaire said finally. “I’m not good with words. I haven’t been, ever. I don’t think anything I say to you right now will do justice to how I feel at this moment. But if you could see into my heart, you would know. Something about you is different and I think we’re meant to be together. I believe that.” 

“Prove it,” Enjolras insisted once again. “Prove you believe in  _ something,  _ at least. Prove that I can trust you, that you’re not just some guy trying to use me. You say you believe in me, but why should I believe in you?” 

Grantaire stuttered for a moment. He had not come here expecting an interrogation. He turned back to his table, giving Cosette and Marius a look that he hoped said ‘help’. Éponine had disappeared somewhere. Marius gave him an unhelpful shrug, but even if he hadn’t, advice from Marius was seldom good advice, however good his intentions were. Cosette put two hands over her heart and thrust them back out, nodding encouragingly. 

_ Speak from the heart _ ? Grantaire sighed internally.  _ Speaking in general was never my strong suit.  _

“I believe in you-” he tried to say again. 

Enjolras held up a hand. “Yeah, I got that. But I have to say I’m a little wary to trust that you mean that after knowing me for maybe… five minutes tops? Tell me, Grantaire. What else do you believe in?” 

Grantaire thought for a minute. Until Enjolras had stepped into this bar, his life had in fact felt pretty hopeless. For months he’d been living on old savings and refusing to let himself have fun, so he was running a little low on belief. 

But when he looked back further, he remembered how passionate he’d used to be about his music. The way the rest of the world fell away when he started singing, and the way he could light up a room with just his guitar. 

“Music,” he answered. “I believe in the power of music over all things. I believe that if a song is strong enough it can affect even the forces of nature.” 

Enjolras raised a brow. “Really? I thought you said you weren’t a musician anymore.” 

“I guess what I meant is I don’t play as much anymore. But when I did, I believed wholeheartedly. I had a song that was going to be so powerful it would make the flowers grow.” 

“A song to make flowers grow? That would have to be one powerful song.” Enjolras’ curiosity was piqued, but he was still suspicious. “Can you still sing it?” 

“W-What?” Grantaire stumbled back a bit, unprepared for that question. “You want me to sing it?” 

“Well, you just said you believed in it. Don’t you?” 

“Yes, but-” 

“I don’t see what the problem is, then. Sing it.” 

“It’s not finished yet.” 

“Just sing what you have. If it’s true that you really believe in it, I have faith that you’ll be able to do it. See, when people really believe in something, it shows.” 

Grantaire pressed his lips together and prepared to run back to his house to fetch his guitar. He hadn’t used it in months now, but he was sure that if he tried to play now the notes would come to him like they used to. Enjolras was right, if he believed in something then it would shine through, and he knew that his faith had returned. He had lost his passion for the world, but he had found a new passion, and he was fully prepared to channel it into a song. 

Thankfully, Éponine was a few steps ahead of him. She already stood behind him with his guitar in hand, a look on her face saying that she’d known he would make a fool of himself and need it. He mouthed a ‘thank you’ to her before pulling the strap over his head and positioning his fingers on the strings. 

Enjolras looked up eagerly. No one had played him a song in a long time and apparently this was a good one by the way the heads in the bar started to turn to Grantaire. He’d never been very moved by music before, so he doubted anything would come of this, but he was ready to be proven wrong.

But as soon as Grantaire’s finger started to pluck at the strings, and his mouth opened, Enjolras was proven really,  _ really  _ wrong. There was something about him, the way he closed his eyes while playing and the way his shoulders relaxed immediately. He’d seemed to tense before, but the moment the song started Grantaire became someone else. He was freer, more independent, and all the sadness and hopelessness that had been written all over his face was replaced by a peaceful expression. Enjolras was entranced by the song, he couldn’t look away or stop listening. His sleepiness was forgotten, his mistrust gone. Grantaire and his music became the whole world. The rest of the bar could have burned away and Enjolras wouldn’t have noticed. 

Marius and Cosette, who had been watching the exchange from their table, recognized the unfinished tune of Grantaire’s special song. The song he had poured so much emotion into, so much time and dedication into, that he had promised was enough to make the flowers grow again. They had doubted him before, but hearing him sing it now, the song was changed. Perhaps it was in a different key, or perhaps a note here or there was different, or perhaps it had been rewritten entirely. But something was different about it. 

Grantaire, from the minute he’d started the song, knew exactly what was different. It felt crazy, honestly. He’d only just met Enjolras, but he felt like a puzzle piece that had been missing had been put in place. He didn’t know Enjolras, and yet he’d known him this entire time. And Enjolras was the part of the song that he’d failed to perfect before. Now, with a newfound belief in  _ something _ , the song was changed. The music poured out of his mouth and his instrument and into the air, and it was like magic. 

And when he was finished, when he reached as far as he had written, he threw his hands out. Sometime during his song, small red flowers had grown from his palms and wound their way around his fingers. Grantaire was surprised. He had never managed to make anything grow before… but then, he had never had Enjolras before. 

Enjolras saw these flowers, and leapt out of his seat. He took Grantaire’s hand in his own and examined it, trying to find the hidden place in his sleeve where they had come from. But there was no hidden place, no secret pocket where he could have stored the flowers. They had grown from the power of his music alone. 

“How did you do that?” Enjolras asked breathlessly. 

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said, sounding a little shocked himself. “It’s never happened before. And the song’s not even finished yet.” 

“Even so, it can do this?” Enjolras’ opinions were changed. Grantaire might not have been the most noble of people. He may not be the firmest believer in freedom or equality or even goodness. But he must believe in something, because music so powerful does not come from an empty heart. Enjolras looked into Grantaire’s green eyes and said softly, “You have to finish it.” 

It was Grantaire’s turn to smile. “Will you stay with me, then? Help me finish it? I said I believed in you, and I meant it. I may have been the one singing, but you are the one who made these flowers grow.” 

Enjolras returned the smile. “Fine. You win. I’ll stay with you, and you will finish the song, and I will have someone who believes as much as I do.” 

“I think we are going to make a good pair,” Grantaire said. 


	5. Epic I

Éponine’s mouth had fallen open. She had heard Grantaire’s song before, but never like that. She hadn’t recognized it until now. She interrupted Grantaire and Enjolras to look the musician in the eyes. 

“Where did you get that melody?” she demanded. 

“W-What? I don’t know,” Grantaire stammered. “It just came to me. Like I’d known it all along.” 

“It’s a very old song,” Éponine said. “It was a love song, once. But I haven’t heard it in  _ years _ .” 

Enjolras and Grantaire both waited for her to continue talking. When she didn’t, Grantaire said, “Well, tell us more. You can’t just leave us with that bit of information.” 

“You know the story already,” Éponine told him. “You wrote a song about it once. You used to sing it for us when we were bored.” 

“You mean the story of the two lovers? The men who were like you?” Grantaire heard the tune he’d written in the back of his mind as soon as she’d said the words. He has sung that song to entertain children, and he hadn’t played it since the world started going dark. “Valjean and Javert.” 

“Who now?” Enjolras looked back and forth between the two. “Look, I’m new to town, so maybe you guys all know who these people are, but I certainly do not.” 

Éponine motioned for Grantaire to pick up his guitar again. “Grantaire can play his song and explain it to you.” 

Enjolras nodded at this suggestion, eager to hear Grantaire play again. “I like that plan.” 

Grantaire blushed slightly. He was used to praise about his music, but hearing it from Enjolras was new and made him feel like maybe he actually had a chance of winning the man over. “Alright.” 

He readjusted his fingers and readied the song. 

_ “King of Justice  _

_ King of Law  _

_ Javert was king of the Underworld _

_ But he fell in love with a generous man _

_ Who walked up above in God’s green fields  _

_ He fell in love with Jean Valjean _

_ Who showed kindness to everyone he ever met.  _

_ He followed Valjean with a dedication like no other  _

_ And took him home to become his lover _

_ Where the sun never shone  _

_ On anyone.”  _

Grantaire paused, knowing his song didn’t rhyme. At least it had words, but did Enjolras like it? Was he singing it right?

“Well, don’t stop there,” Enjolras encouraged. 

Grantaire smiled and kept going. 

_ “Valjean loved Javert and the kingdom he ruled _

_ But without him above those he cared for starved _

_ So Javert agreed that for half of each year  _

_ He would stay with him in his world down below _

_ But the other half he could walk in the sun _

_ And the sun, in turn, burned twice as bright _

_ And the people were happy to have him back _

_ And thus was the cycle  _

_ Of the give and the take  _

_ And the lives of the people _

_ And the loss and the gain…” _

Grantaire stopped again, racking his brain. He did not remember the song quite as well as he thought. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forget what happens next.” 

“The song you just sang,” Éponine said for him. “The one with the flowers. Javert used to sing it for Valjean. Admittedly, it never made anything grow, but… it was enough to win Valjean’s heart.” Éponine laughed softly to herself. “But that was long, long ago. Before we were on this road.” 

“This road?” Enjolras looked all around the bar at everyone who was now staring at them wordlessly. “I don’t understand. Is that story true? Do those people actually exist?” 

Cosette nodded from her own table when no one else spoke. “Valjean is my father. He comes on the train every six months to spend time with us here in this town. Things are bad, but when he’s around they’re never awful. He brings food, money, gifts for everyone. No one knows where he gets it all, but he’s very generous and never holds back when he can help.” 

“He may be Cosette’s father,” Marius continued, “But in truth, he is a father to us all.” 

“He’ll be returning soon,” Éponine said. “Only a few weeks.” 

“We hold on so that we can see the next time he comes back,” Grantaire said. “The hardships of life are always worth the good times with him.” 

Enjolras sighed. “Good times, huh? It’s been a while since I had a good time.” 

Grantaire took his hand, to both their surprise. Since when had Grantaire been courageous enough to actually make a move? And since when did Enjolras hold the hand of someone he’d just met? But they both allowed it. “Then let yourself have one here.” 


	6. Livin' It Up On Top

Enjolras stayed with Grantaire for the two weeks following his arrival. It was always cold, but thankfully the men in uniforms left them alone. They knew Valjean was returning soon and they had been retreating, though no one knew exactly where they had gone. Many suspected they took the train back to wherever it went. 

When the day arrived, Grantaire woke Enjolras early… or rather, late. Just before midnight, to be exact. He’d been sleeping on a borrowed mattress (from Cosette and Marius, of course) since he had refused to take Grantaire’s bed though the musician had volunteered to take the floor. 

“Why do we have to get up so early?” Enjolras asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“We want to get there early,” Grantaire replied, grabbing his guitar. While having Enjolras over, he’d been playing music much more. Though he hadn’t sung his flower song, he’d been revisiting his older songs and playing them for Enjolras, who had been figuring out his way around town. They didn’t often go for walks, because Grantaire didn’t want Enjolras to get in trouble with the men in uniforms, rare as they were getting. He already knew Enjolras pretty well, and he also knew that he would definitely try to pick a fight if they demanded money from him. 

“I thought you said Valjean never gets here early,” Enjolras protested. 

“Well, not anymore he doesn’t,” Grantaire ceded. “He hasn’t been exactly on time in a while. But sooner or later he’ll be back on schedule and we have to be there for that day.” 

Granite dragged Enjolras up and all the way to the train station, where a crowd was gathering. Cosette and Marius stood at the front, and Grantaire shoved his way through until he and Enjolras stood next to them. 

“Is he here yet?” Grantaire asked. 

“No,” Cosette replied, somewhat sadly. When her father was late was the only time anyone ever saw Cosette feeling down, and it was understandable. Her father was supposed to arrive as soon as the six months were up, midnight of the new month. But he’d been coming later and later… first an hour late, then two hours, and it seemed longer every time. The people knew that the agreement could not be breached, so he always arrived on that day. But sometimes they would have to stand in the cold for hours waiting. 

This was the case this time. Enjolras was unused to it, but there he stood, alongside the others, waiting for hours as the sun rose and the snow in the streets sparkled. No one made a sound for the first two hours, which was very eerie to him. 

Gavroche had shown up at some point, and was standing in the corner of the station. Éponine was nowhere to be seen, but she usually showed up around the same time as Valjean did. 

By the third hour, people began chatting with each other. They speculated what Valjean might bring back this year, or how long he would stay. By the fourth hour, Grantaire sang them a few of his songs and people cheered. By the fifth hour, people had started playing games in circles and children were chasing each other, weaving in and out of taller folks’ legs. This went on until the eighth hour, during which the people had begun to tire and sit down. Someone had brought coffee, which was being passed around for free. 

It was pretty incredible. Enjolras had never seen a community like this before. They had been so distant from each other before this day, but now they came together and supported each other. The effects of Valjean’s arrival were showing up even before he did. Despite the cold the train station was warm. Perhaps it was because of the crowd, but perhaps it was because of the atmosphere. People were happier, more hopeful, and it showed. 

_ Maybe this town is different,  _ Enjolras thought.  _ Maybe here, I won’t have to preach for freedom. Maybe freedom is already here. It just shows itself differently.  _

By the ninth hour, people were going back to sleep. No one dared leave the station in case the train were to come while they were away, but they leaned against the walls and closed their eyes. All of the children were laying down on the ground yawning, trying to stay awake. All of the children, that is, except for Gavroche, who was swindling men out of most of their money in a game of cards. Grantaire had produced a bottle of wine from somewhere but Enjolras snatched it after a few drinks, not wanting Grantaire to get drunk. In the week or two he’d spent with him he’d discovered that while Grantaire liked to drink, he was much more pleasant and genuine when he was sober. Maybe it was selfish of him, but Enjolras liked that Grantaire better. 

By the twelfth hour, the ones who were still away could hear a train whistle in the distance. Cosette, who had not been able to sleep, sprung up suddenly with a smile that could have split her face in half. 

“He’s coming!” She cried happily, clapping loudly to wake everyone up. “Everyone wake up! Papa is here!” 

The people woke up so fast that in less than a minute the station went from near silence to bustling and busy. 

The train, gray and steel and large, pulled into the station slowly, the wheels squeaking loudly. The smoke that came from the smokestack made the air white, and people coughed, fanning their faces. 

The door opened slowly, sliding to the side with a whine. A man stepped out of the compartment. He wore a long yellow overcoat and a top hat. In his hand he held a suitcase that looked altogether too heavy for one person to carry, but he somehow managed to hold it up without any help. By the way everyone began murmuring excitedly at his arrival, Enjolras inferred that the man was Valjean. 

Valjean looked up and smiled, taking off his hat. He had brown hair that was graying in parts, and the creases of his eyes had wrinkles, but despite this he had a youthful appearance that lit up the room. He tossed the hat into the crowd and shouted “I’m back, Montfermeil!” 

The room erupted in cheers and Valjean ran to embrace Cosette, who buried her face in his shoulder and giggled and he lifted her feet off the ground. He reached out to shake Marius’ hand, but instead tugged him into a hug too. Gavroche received a pat on the head which he shook off indignantly, but everyone could see how happy it made him. Anyone who approached Valjean received some kind of affection, whether it was a hug or a pat on the back or just a cheerful smile. It might have been Enjolras’ mind, but the sun had become brighter and the light that filtered through the windows had gained more color. In fact, everything was more colorful. Grantaire’s vest was a clearer forest green and Cosette wore a pale lime to match Marius’ darker clover coat. 

Grantaire received a hug from Valjean, and tugged Enjolras forward, introducing him as new to town. Valjean shook his hand, thankfully (Enjolras had not wanted a hug and the man had seemed to catch on to this). The train had chugged its way off again without anyone noticing, and Éponine had reappeared. 

The crowd followed Valjean to the center of town where he set the suitcase down in the clearing that had once housed a fountain. The fountain had been removed when it had stopped spouting water, but it made for a great open space that could fit the entire town. Valjean opened the case and pulled out all sorts of good things: wine bottles, fruits, scarves and cloaks, sausages, candles, silver coins, gold chains and much more. He began handing them out to whoever asked. It was madness, honestly. Enjolras was amazed at how easily he gifted people with everything he had as though it was no loss to him. He’d never met someone with enough wealth that they could do such a thing, and he was even more surprised when he received a red apple for himself though he had nothing to exchange for it. 

People were rejoicing. There was dancing and singing, and Valjean joined in a circular march that involved locked arms. Despite having woken up so early, the townspeople partied late into the night and even into early morning. The suitcase obviously held much more than it appeared to, because Valjean kept pulling things out even when people thought for sure that it had to be empty at that point. 

People asked Valjean many questions. “What do you do while you’re gone?” “How are things in the Underworld?” “Why were you so late?” 

“Let us not talk of such depressing things,” Valjean had answered. “I am no longer in the Underworld, am I? Let us celebrate while we can and appreciate what we have been given by God!” 

Wine and gin was passed around without abandon, people grabbing bottles and taking a swig and handing them over to the next person. Enjolras had never really experienced a party before, so throwing away his worries and just having fun was a very, very nice break. Grantaire grabbed him by his arms and showed him how to dance to a few songs, and once he was confident enough to do it by himself Grantaire pulled out his guitar and readied his own song. 

“Ho! Everyone!” Valjean called before he could start. “Our very own poet is about to give us a song! Grantaire, I have not heard you sing in years, I had thought you had abandoned your art. But I am glad to see that you have been reinspired. Go on, R, bless this round of drinks!” 

“Woohoo! Grantaire!” Cosette cheered. She had not left her father’s side since he had arrived, and Marius had been somewhat awkwardly trailing behind her. He clapped in his turn, and all eyes turned expectantly to Grantaire. 

“To the patron of all of this, Jean Valjean!” Grantaire called out. “Who has finally returned to us with enough to share! And so good a man is he that he asks nothing in return, save that we should live as brothers and be kind to one another! If no one takes too much, there will always be enough. He has shown us a better world in which people live together in harmony, and this is the world we live in now!”

Everyone cheered and raised their glasses, genuine grins on their faces. Enjolras took a minute to look around and appreciate what this town had to offer. He had spent so long trying to find people who would join him on his quest for freedom. Everywhere he went had been faced with some sort of oppression, some kind of veil of silence. But in this town, while Valjean was around, everyone was an equal. Everyone shared and smiled and was merry in tandem with each other. This was what he had been striving for his whole life. To have found a place that already lived in that sort of harmony… 

Enjolras decided to stay. 

Grantaire played his songs, party songs and dancing songs and singalongs, until his voice was hoarse and people were too tired to dance any longer. 

When finally people had tired themselves out, they began to retreat into their own homes. Enjolras was afraid that after that they might go back to their old miserable selves, but he was wrong. Valjean’s arrival had changed the very workings of the town. As the days passed, the snow melted and the wind stopped. The sun shone and green grass speared its way through the tough dirt, giving everything a bit more color. Flowers bloomed, fields of them in the flat plains outside of town, and the trees that he’d thought were dead grew fat leaves and it even rained a few times. 

Months passed and people ate like kings. Fruit fell from trees, wheat sprang up in the abandoned fields, and cows suddenly had an abundance of milk. People had motivation. Buildings that had once been falling apart were repaired by the townsfolk. They came together with logs and glass and stones and all worked tirelessly to fix their houses despite not being paid for their services. People danced often regardless of whether there was an occasion or not. 

And while the town was celebrating the return of summer and their hopes and dreams, Enjolras and Grantaire were celebrating each other. 


	7. All I've Ever Known

In the six months following Valjean’s arrival, Enjolras experienced happiness like he never had before. He ate as much as he wanted to without worrying about what he would have for tomorrow. He danced often and joined strangers in song. These strangers welcomed him, for when he wasn’t busy being a righteous ray of justice for the people he could be quite pleasant and charming. Even in the warmth of summer he never took off his red coat, which made him easy to spot in a crowd of green and yellow. Of course, if you spotted Enjolras, you were likely to also spot Grantaire, who rarely left his lover’s side. He played music much more often now, and smiled more often too. He drank less and developed healthy sleeping patterns, much to the thanks of Enjolras. With Enjolras, Grantaire forgot about his desire to save the world through song, for as long as Enjolras was at his side the world was already saved. Similarly, Enjolras forgot about his pursuit of equality, for in this place they were already equals. 

You see, Enjolras had lived his whole life alone. He had never experienced a devotion like Grantaire’s. He hadn’t known that he had been lonely, but in gaining Grantaire he realized what he had been missing his whole life. It was as if a man who had wandered in the cold his whole life suddenly found a fire and forgot what it was like to be cold. Grantaire filled him with so much joy and enthusiasm that he forgot he had ever had to live without him. Grantaire saw him as more than just a person. He appreciated him for his personality, his passion, his emotion, his dedication. Grantaire made him feel appreciated not for what he could give but for who he was. Once upon a time, his fervor used to scare people away. With Grantaire, it seemed like however riled up Enjolras got was never too much. Grantaire liked it when Enjolras got passionate about anything, and Enjolras appreciated having an audience who wasn’t simply waiting for him to finish. Enjolras had lived his whole life alone, but all of a sudden he was faced with the realization that he never had to be alone again. 

Grantaire, for his part, had gone most of his life living in a place where passion was hard to come by. People’s motivation for living was just to see another year. Even during the summer, everyone’s excitement was normal and underwhelming. Enjolras was different from this. He was like a storm. He didn’t feel half-hearted about anything, he committed to everything, and it was so refreshing for Grantaire to have someone with his kind of intensity. Grantaire could draw from Enjolras’ passion and add to his own. Enjolras gave him motivation to do things and to do them right. On top of that, it seemed like Enjolras genuinely cared about him. He tried to make sure he ate healthily and slept enough, and got enough sunlight. He was showing Grantaire not just how to survive, but to get the most out of life and out of himself. 

One day they were walking through town, hand in hand, under the noon sun. Grantaire was barefoot because he liked the feel of the new grass between his toes. Enjolras let his wavy hair flow in the light breeze. Oftentimes they walked in the seemingly endless fields of orange and pink flowers that had come out of nowhere, but on that day they walked among the buildings of their friends. 

“You know, I must be the luckiest person in the world,” Grantaire commented. “I’m a nobody. Who am I that I should get to hold you? But for whatever reason you let me.”

“I could say the same to you,” Enjolras replied. “I came to this town as a stranger. You took notice of me, for some reason that I can’t fathom.” Grantaire sent him a questioning look. “Okay, fine. So I can understand how I might have captured your attention. But the remarkable thing is that you’re still here. You know all about me and you know what I’m like and you still want to be around me.” 

“There’s something about you,” Grantaire said. “I swear, we were meant to find each other. I knew you before we met, and I don’t even know you yet. Not like I want to. I want to know everything about you, I want to be with you all the time. I don’t know why I feel like this. All I know is you’re someone I have always known.” 

Enjolras huffed a laugh at this. “Ever the poet, R. You have a way with words.” 

Grantaire chuckled. “I can’t believe you would say that after the way I acted when we first met, Apollo.” One day he’d just started calling Enjolras by this nickname, and although Enjolras had never accepted a nickname before there was something about the way Grantaire said this one that made it special. 

“No, I mean it,” Enjolras insisted. “You just have a way of saying things that make them sound like a song.” 

“And you have a way of saying things that make them sound like I’m not just a walking disaster.” 

Enjolras made a face at him. “Be serious.” 

“I am wild,” Grantaire responded smugly. 

The pair made their way to the center of town, which was oddly empty. During the summer there was usually a picnic or even a celebration, but today there was no one. The couple took a seat on a stone bench by the edges of the clearing and Grantaire leaned over to rest his head on Enjolras’ shoulder. 

They had come to live for moments like these. Quiet times, where neither had to say a word, and they could just enjoy the other’s company. There were birds singing somewhere, and they could hear children playing out of sight. 

“You know,” Enjolras said, “Before I met you I was so focused on ridding the world of oppression and bringing about equality. It was like I was in a perpetual state of anger. I couldn’t see the good things in the world. I never put anything above the freedom of the people. But something about you makes me think that I have room in my life for more than just that.” 

Grantaire rubbed the back of Enjolras’ hand with his thumb. “Promise me that things will never change. Whatever way the wind blows, whatever changes the winter may bring, say that you’ll stay with me forever.” 

“Things will never change,” Enjolras said calmly. “Whatever way the wind blows, whatever changes the winter brings, I will stay with you.” 

He cupped R’s cheek in his palm and planted a soft kiss on his lips. 


	8. Way Down Hadestown

Six months passed quicker than anyone was expecting. No one really counted the days during summer because no one wanted to know how close they were to being over. Unfortunately, that meant that when the dark day arrived everyone was unpleasantly surprised. 

Just as the sun began to set, a train whistle could be heard in the distance. There was a rumbling in the ground. A sense of dark dread hung over the town. 

Enjolras, despite this being his first time, knew what this meant. Valjean was going to have to go back down to the Underworld, wherever that was, and the people would be left in the cold winter again. After six months, it was hard to remember what cold felt like. It was hard to remember how hard things had been. It happened year after year, and yet, every year seemed like the end of the world when Valjean had to leave. 

He wore his yellow coat and top hat once again, and he had a sad look in his eyes. Cosette and Marius led him back to the train station, and the rest of the town trailed not far behind. Everyone liked to wish him a fond goodbye, knowing that living down there was probably worse than anything they dealt with up here. 

The train station’s energy on that day was very, very different. People looked on with solemn eyes as Valjean stepped up to the front of the crowd and waited by the terminal. Some people were even crying. The train was still a few minutes away, but everyone could feel it coming whether it was in sight or not. 

“What is it like?” Enjolras whispered in Grantaire’s ear. “The Underworld?” 

“Hadestown?” Grantaire whispered back. “Well, I don’t exactly kn-” 

“What is Hadestown like?” A voice roared from behind them. Both men whirled around to find Mme. Thénardier behind them. Enjolras had never met either of the Thénardiers, so he was rather surprised by her sudden appearance out of nowhere. “Well, we can tell you what it’s like!” 

“Oh yeah, everyone pitch in!” M. Thénardier called from the other end of the room. Enjolras scooted a little closer to Grantaire, embarrassed that his ignorance was being broadcasted for the whole town. “What is Hadestown like, eh?” 

Éponine appeared from somewhere in the crowd. “Thénardier, we don’t want any of your tricks.” 

Valjean held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. If he wants to know what it’s like, he has a right to know.” 

The people’s interests were captured as Valjean began to describe his journey to the underworld. 

“The train is dark and lit only by artificial candles. It rolls along the track for miles that way,” he pointed, “until it reaches a dark hole. You can barely feel the downwards decline, but soon enough the sunlight disappears and all you can see are jagged stone walls. If you get down far enough, the cave turns into a carven tunnel. When you emerge, there you are. The underground factory. Hadestown.” 

“I heard the people down there are slaves,” one woman called out. 

“I heard there are dogs around the gates that could eat a human in under eight minutes, like piranhas,” another man added. 

“I knew of a man who went down there,” Gavroche piped up. “He left and he never came back. No one who goes down ever does.” 

“It’s not quite as bad as it’s made out to be,” Valjean said. “But it’s terribly bland. There’s no sunlight or color. I’m afraid I’ll be very bored for the next six months, friends.”

“Oh, please!” Mme. Thénardier shouted. “Everyone knows Hadestown is the place to be! It’s overflowing with gold and silver and all the fruits of the Earth.” People never knew whether to believe the Thénardiers. They made a big show of having been to Hadestown and come back, then proceeding to go back and forth between the two worlds. No one knew whether they’d actually been there, but no one had any evidence that they hadn’t, either. 

“Liars!” Éponine cried. “Hadestown is awful! Everybody hungry, everybody tired, everybody slaves! The wage is nothing, the work is hard, it’s a  _ graveyard  _ in Hadestown.” 

“Right, because you know exactly what it’s like, you go so often,” The Thénardiers challenged. Éponine fell silent. Though it was true that she travelled between the worlds, it wasn’t a fact she liked to advertise. 

People continued to argue amongst themselves over what it was like in Hadestown until another train whistle cut them all off. With a screech, the steam engine pulled into the station. Where once people had seen salvation, all they could see now was the inevitability of winter and the coming starvation. 

The door slid open much like it had when Valjean had arrived, but this time it was a much more feared man who stepped out. He wore a black overcoat and dark glasses that hid his eyes, and he had rusty, colorless hair that was cropped close to his head. A thin beard covered the lower half of his face, but it did not hide his harsh frown. His hand, clothed in a black glove, reached out to Valjean. 

“You’re early,” Valjean said bitterly. 

“I missed you,” Javert replied dryly. 

Valjean turned to Cosette one more time and gave her a tight hug. He smiled weakly at the townspeople and said quietly, but loud enough that everyone could hear, “See you all in six months.” Then, he grabbed his case and grabbed Javert’s hand with his own. The black-clothed man led his lover into the train compartment, and the door shut behind them with a puff of steam. The station was silent but for the squeal of wheels as the train departed. 

People began to leave. First a few loners, left to go home and take a nap. Then they began leaving in pairs, commenting to each other what a shame their lives were about to go downhill very fast. Then they left in groups, ready to head to the bar for the last time while there was still wine to be drunk. Finally, Grantaire and Enjolras left, hand in hand and despairing, leaving Cosette to stand by the side of the train tracks as she did every year, as if a mistake might have been made and her father would be back on the train any moment to tell her he wasn’t really leaving. Marius stayed by her side, hugging her to keep her warm. Sure enough, as soon as Valjean was gone, the wind picked up again. 

“What happens now?” Enjolras asked, suddenly rubbing his arms as he shivered. 

“Things go back to how they were,” Grantaire replied. “People freeze and starve. The men in uniform will be back any day now. The plants will die and the colors will all be gone.” 

“Surely you all can’t just resign to that?” Enjolras asked. “You have to think there’s some way to fix this. To bring the world back into tune.” 

“Tune, tune,” Grantaire repeated under his breath, suddenly remembering. “I can do that. My song, it’s made flowers grow before and it can do it again. If I finish it, everything will be better.” 

“R, you’re a genius. You’ll have to finish it quick,” Enjolras said affectionately. “But-” 

“Yes, I will finish the song,” Grantaire decided, not hearing what Enjolras was trying to say. “I will finish it and bring about the world you see, Apollo. I’m going to make everything grow again and together we’re going to fix the world.” He let go of Enjolras’ hand and dashed at full speed back towards their house, eager to get to his guitar and papers before he could forget a single note that came to his head. 

“Okay, but we still need food,” Enjolras called after him. “And firewood. We need to…” he trailed off, realizing he had been left quite alone in the street. “Okay. Finish the song.” 


	9. Epic II

The Underworld was in fact, a very dark and boring place, fueled by capitalism and corruption. At the heart of this place is the king, and he is called Javert. Javert controlled his realm under the ground with an iron fist. There was no place for mercy or the love of God. All he knew was the Law. Javert believed that without laws, people fell to anarchy and chaos. He believed that if people were to govern themselves they would turn on each other. He had no faith in humanity, you see. He knew for a fact in his heart that there had to be rules, and those rules had to be followed, at any cost at all. 

Javert ruled over his place which was called Hadestown. It was a factory, a mine, a base, and many other things. He hired workers from anywhere he could to dig up gold and silver and to work on his assembly lines. With his precious metals he made coins, and with these coins he made a fortune, and with this fortune he hired more workers, and thus was born the vicious cycle of Javert’s rule. His hired hands build him walls, expand his kingdom and enclose it at the same time. They connect everything with wires, and tie everything down with the very same wires. For you see, if everything is connected then there is no independence. But then, his workers did not need independence. They had lost their free will, lost what had once made them human. They were mindless drones, obeying orders. They had lost the passion they had once had. With the army of subjects he built, Javert would accomplish his mission. 

It was his mission to save the world from itself. He would spread his influence over all the world and give the people laws and rules, things to keep them in line and keep them safe. He would make sure that criminals faced justice and that vagabonds got what they deserved. He believed that people were inherently bad, and that laws gave them something to look at and be inspired to do good. 

There had been one man who had changed his mind: Jean Valjean, the man who was so gracious despite these hard times. Sunlight and color seemed to follow wherever he went, and it was clear to anyone who met him that he was a kind man. Javert had gone his whole life thinking that people were incurably bad, but Valjean had proved him wrong. He met everyone with compassion, even a tired man dressed in black who needed to save the world from itself. Valjean was everything good about the world. Javert had fallen instantly in love. He could think of nothing but Valjean’s smile and his gentle hands and he had to have that. Valjean brought a light to his life and gave him a real reason to save the world. As soon as he had Valjean, Javert had something to lose, and that made him human. Javert was eternally grateful to Valjean for showing him how to feel something. 

But though Valjean loved Javert best, he loved the rest of the world too. It was unfair of Javert to keep Valjean to himself under the earth. So he agreed that for six months Valjean would walk above, in the sunlight and the arms of his daughter and among the people who adored him. But after years of this arrangement, Javert began to notice things. He noticed how unhappy Valjean was when he came back with Javert, and how happy he was when he was to rejoin the people on top. Javert was overcome with an immense jealousy. He worried that Valjean loved the sun and the sky and the people more than he loved Javert. He feared each time he saw Valjean go that his love would never want to return to him. He doubted his lover, and so tried ever harder to control him, to keep him in his grasp, and in doing so he robbed Valjean of his freedom. He did not realize that the very actions he took to keep Valjean were causing him to lose him even faster. 

And so, year after year, it went on like this. Javert expanded his kingdom and his influence, and Valjean grew more and more unhappy, and the world suffered the consequences. 


	10. Chant

When the train arrived in Hadestown once more, Javert stepped out first, helping Valjean out of the car with a hand. The dark, cavernous kingdom was lit with bright lights like those in a stadium. The crackling of electricity and the crashing of factory work echoed around the whole kingdom, and the heat of the fires was an ever-present malady. 

Valjean peeled off his overcoat, breathing heavily. “Even in the middle of winter, the heat is overwhelming down here. You should have ice imported from above, Javert. Your workers will overheat.” 

“They have their fans to generate wind,” Javert replied affectionately, ever impressed by the empathy of his lover, yet oblivious to the sufferings Valjean pointed out. Their fans were, in fact, insufficient, but Javert was deafened to the cries of his subjects by the noises of industry. 

“You have built new factories.” 

“You were gone for so long,” Javert explained. “Six months feels like an eternity without you. I had to keep busy. I had to focus on progress instead of missing you. I build a foundry in the ground beneath your feet, and in it I produce things of steel, machines and vehicles to keep this kingdom running. If it helps, you can think of the heat of the fires as how hot my love for you burns.” 

“It’s so bright,” Valjean continued, holding a hand up to his eyes to shield them. “Even at night, I imagine it is hard to sleep under such a glare.” 

“You were gone for so long,” Javert repeated, wishing his lover would focus on him instead of everything that had happened in his absence. “I wanted to surprise you when you got back. I know you love the light of the sun, so I build an electrical grid to produce enough power to shine twice as bright as the sun ever did. Perhaps now you will not be so sad in the darkness of my kingdom.” Javert smiled at Valjean, who shook his head sadly. 

“Oh, Javert,” He said, forlorn. “How wrong you are. You misunderstand me, my love. Did you think to impress me with the fruits of forced labor? Did you think to astound me with artificial imitations of the beauty of nature? Oh, Javert, what has become of you? Once, you were so ready to fix the world, to bring about peace and help the people. Now all you care for are your rules and your kingdom. I don’t know you anymore. Where has your goodness gone, lover? The people above are starving, and you are fashioning products they cannot even afford to help them.” 

Javert, suddenly overcome with anger, shouted, “Everything I do, I do for the love of you! If you don’t even want my love, maybe I shall give it to someone else who does! Someone who appreciates that I am striving for a better world, and someone who wishes to see the world fixed as much as I do! Someone else who is righteous, someone else who knows their priorities. Clearly, all you care about is what the people are eating tonight, and not the men who murder each other in meaningless pursuit! While you pass out fruits I am stopping murderers! Doling justice! When you come to appreciate a world without crime, you will see that I was right all along.” 

Valjean simply sighed tiredly and turned away, dragging his case back to his rooms to sleep. Javert turned on his heel with a furious huff and boarded the train once again.

* * *

W ith Valjean gone, the world above reverted to its gray, dead state. The grass yellowed and died. The leaves crumbled like papyrus and fell from the trees, coating the ground like an orange flood. Cows ran out of milk and chickens stopped laying eggs, and their farmers, too sentimental to kill the animals, went hungry and thirsty. The sun was shadowed by clouds all the time, and fire offered little comfort. Whatever people could find to burn they did, and soon all the dead leaves were lost to desperate flames. Anything to keep the people warm at night. 

The men in uniform had indeed returned. They patrolled the streets day and night, and though no one really knew what they were doing, no one was brave enough to stare down the barrel of a rifle to ask. No one, that is, except Enjolras. 

The first week had been the worst for Enjolras, maybe the worst in his whole life. After living happily for so many months he had forgotten the cold and dark of winter. He had forgotten the feeling of an empty stomach and the dread that filled him when he realized that the last log in the fire was almost burned to ash. Most of all, he had forgotten how much he hated to see the hopelessness in people’s eyes when he passed them in the streets. 

But perhaps the worst thing was that he went through life alone again. Grantaire had traded holding Enjolras’ hand for holding his guitar instead, or holding a pencil as he scratched away on his papers, scribbling notes and tunes and keys. Enjolras, who was uneducated in the ways of music, trusted that Grantaire knew what he was doing, and so he did his best to provide for both of them. However, it was hard to find motivation to keep going when Grantaire barely spoke to him. 

It was a big misunderstanding, really. See, Enjolras asked every day, “Is it finished?” Grantaire would always reply, “Not yet,” to which Enjolras would say “Well, hurry up.” Enjolras said this because he wished Grantaire would stop his work, but he knew that he never would until the song was finished. He watched Grantaire spiral back into his bad habits, sleeping once a week perhaps, and drinking wine in the place of water. The bags under his eyes grew every day, and his breathing became labored when he stopped singing to take a breath. Besides his concerns for Grantaire’s health, Enjolras longed to have his singer by his side, and he wished that R would come back to him and pay as much attention to him as he paid to his music. Grantaire, on the other hand, interpreted Enjolras’ question as a request to finish faster. He knew that Enjolras wanted a better world more than anything, and he felt suddenly that everything was resting on his shoulders. Enjolras needed this song to be perfect, and so Grantaire worked tirelessly to please him, spending hours on one verse only to scratch it out the next day and start again. He figured that when he finally finished, when he shared it with his lover and made his Apollo proud, everything would be worth it. So he worked tirelessly, day and night, never resting. 

The first week was the worst, as I have said, because it was Enjolras’ first encounter with the men in uniform. Thankfully Grantaire was with him at the time. The two had been walking home when they were stopped by a rather pretentious looking man with a missing tooth. The man had demanded all the money they carried, and Enjolras had been enraged. Why should he take it? Because he had a gun and they didn’t? Because he wore a uniform and they didn’t? Who gave him the right to make the rules? Who had given him the authority to order Enjolras around? 

Enjolras had been ready to fight the man then and there, but Grantaire stopped him and simply pulled out his wallet with a fearful expression. He had suspected Enjolras might have a problem with the arrangement of the men in uniform, but the last thing he wanted was his lover dead in the snow, bleeding from bullet wounds. 

Enjolras had to learn to keep his head down, and it went against everything he knew and everything that made him who it was. It got to the point where Grantaire was afraid every time he left the house that he might not come back, and that he would find him one day, dead in a snowbank, after having challenged the wrong person. 

Thankfully, the men in uniforms hadn’t taken all the money they had. Together, they saved enough to last them two more months. They ate scarcely and didn’t light the fire unless they absolutely had to. Grantaire had drifted away into his work, not realizing that in doing so he had allowed time for Enjolras to wander the streets alone. 

It was on one such day, when Enjolras was going about his business, that something happened. When their savings had finally run out, Enjolras had been told to go to Marius and Cosette for help. It was a blow to his pride to ask for charity, but Enjolras would rather that than see his lover starved. 

He arrived at Marius’ house, and was met with a surprising chill due to the lack of a fire. Cosette had fallen ill at some point during the recent weeks and the heat of the flames did little to help her growing fever and sweat. Marius was despairing, but by Cosette’s wishes still found time to answer the door and give what he could to people in need. 

“I don’t know how you stand it,” Enjolras said, taking the bread from Marius and tucking it into a canvas sack. “I’ve seen bad before, but never like this. You let these men in uniform tell you what to do and you obey them out of fear. Aren’t you tired of living like slaves? Like inferiors?” 

Marius shook his head. “This is the way the world is. No one likes it, but no one can change it.” 

“That’s not true.” Enjolras suddenly got a very determined look in his eye. “If we can rally these people to stand against the men in uniform, we can overpower them. There are more of us, and we have more at stake. If we band together, if the people rise, we can change the way it is. Will you take your place with me?” 

Marius was silent before pressing his lips together in an apologetic look. “Enjolras, I admire your passion… I really do. And believe me, I would love to see the world changed. I would lay down my life if it meant that I could free these people. But I can’t.” 

“Why not?” Enjolras demanded. 

“Because I am not willing to pay the price my death would demand,” Marius answered. “If it was simply me who would suffer the consequences that would be fine. But what of Cosette? Would she be left alone to defend herself, to care for her own sickness and others on top of that? Do you really think she would last the winter? She would give away all her possessions and freeze if I was not here to make sure she cares for herself as much as others.” He sighed. “Valjean trusted me to protect her. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” 

Marius closed the door then. Enjolras was left in the snow, in nothing but his red tailcoat, shivering. He began to make his way home as he pondered Marius’ words. 

He had always thought that when people refused his revolutionary ideas they did it because they were cowards, or because they were too selfish. But perhaps it was possible that they simply had too much to lose. Had he misjudged everyone before this town? Had they just been trying to protect what was close to them? Did that make them selfish? 

He was shaken out of his train of thought by a band of men in uniforms. There were three of them, each toting a long rifle and wearing pretentious smiles.

“Well, who’s this?” One of them said smugly. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, pretty boy.” 

_ Remember what Grantaire said _ , Enjolras told himself, taking a deep breath.  _ Don’t provoke them. They want a reaction, an excuse to take something from you. Don’t give it to them. _ He did his best to keep walking, averting his eyes. 

A hand on his shoulder stopped him, tugging him back to face the men. “Hey, don’t be like that. Don’t you know to respect your superiors?”

It was words like these that really got under Enjolras’ skin. They were  _ not  _ his superiors. They were no one’s superiors. Carrying a gun didn’t make them better, just cockier. 

“You don’t get to give me orders,” Enjolras said from behind gritted teeth, shrugging the hand off his shoulder and turning around. This time, two people grabbed him by the shoulders and arms and yanked him back, knocking the sack from his hands. He gasped a bit at their cold fingers digging into his skin but still struggled, leaning forward to put his weight against them. It didn’t work. 

One of them picked up the sack from where it had fallen, and pulled out the loaf of bread. It was hard and crusty, but it was still all the food Enjolras and Grantaire had. 

“No! Give that back!” He cried, his anger quickly turning to desperation when he realized just what kind of trouble he’d gotten himself into. “It’s everything we have!” 

The man laughed. He turned to one of his friends, the one holding Enjolras’ left arm. “What do you think, Brujon?”

“I think we work hard, Babet. We deserve some appreciation,” Brujon answered. He turned to Enjolras. “Consider it taxes. Everyone has to pay them, and you’re no different.” 

“Taxes, my ass,” he spat. “You’ve done no services and you deserve no reward.” 

Babet lifted his rifle and thrust the butt of it into Enjolras’ stomach, causing him to double over in pain. “You watch how you speak to us, boy! Do you forget who’s wielding the rifles?”

“I forget nothing!” Enjolras hissed. “It’s you who forgets! You forget that we are people too! We are equals! I am no less human than any of you!” 

This earned him another blow, this time to the ribs. He bent and coughed, still tugging at the hands around his arms, trying to catch his breath. 

“Watch your words, boy,” Brujon warned. “These are dark times, and I doubt anyone would miss a bad-mouthed, disrespectful twat like you.”

“So what?” Enjolras replied bitterly. “Are you threatening to kill me? I’ve received death threats before. You don’t scare me.” 

The third man, who had been quiet up until that point, gave Enjolras a harsh shake, chuckling. “We don’t have to scare you. Just knock some sense into you.” 

Enjolras turned to face him to question what that meant, but his jaw was met with a swift blow from the man’s fist. His head spun and lolled, surprised by the force of the punch, but that didn’t stop another one from following the first. Then another, following that one. Then another. Then another. They came from every direction and met his face, his sides, his gut. 

When he had gone limp in the men’s arms, they released him and let him fall to his knees in the snow. It wet the legs of his trousers and he felt a shiver claw its way up his spine. He felt blood trickle from the tip of his nose and watching it fall from his bowed head into the snow. He breathed deeply, trying to get his wits back about him, but the blinding pain in his cheekbones and jawline were enough to dizzy him to the point of near-unconsciousness. 

“Contemptuous little wretch,” Babet said. “You deserve to freeze.” Enjolras felt hands inside his coat, tugging, pulling his arms behind him by his sleeves, until those sleeves were gone and he was left in a thin white dress shirt. 

“No…” he groaned. “Please… please don’t…” 

“What do you think, Gueulemer?” Babet threw his newly-acquired red tailcoat over his shoulders. “Do you think I look good in red?” 

“You look better than he does,” Gueulemer answered. “Let’s go. We have better things to do than waste our time on him.” 

“I hope this taught you some ounce of respect,” Babet said to Enjolras, putting a few fingers under his chin to tilt his head up. He looked into the broken man’s eyes and pointedly took a large bite out of the bread he was still holding. “Remember this next time you try to tell us how much you’re worth compared to us,” he said with his mouth full. He let Enjolras go with a light shove, causing him to shudder and fall backwards. 

As the men in uniform walked away with everything he had had, Enjolras pulled himself back to his knees and held back a groan as he felt the muscles in his torso stretch painfully. Enjolras had been hungry before. He was no stranger to an empty stomach or a cold wind. He had experienced cruelty before, and he was used to it. Before now, he had never let it bother him. He’d always been able to get back up again, keep going, regardless of what was taken from him. He wasn’t afraid to go hungry. He wasn’t afraid to freeze. 

But this time, things were different. He remembered Marius’ words as he knelt there, clutching his arms tightly to himself and shivering in the snowy wind. Enjolras had suffered before, but it had only been him at stake. His death would not have saddened him. If he died because he believed in something, he would have been happy with that. But now? Enjolras had something to lose. Enjolras had Grantaire to care for. He had someone who depended on him, who needed him to bring back food and keep him warm at night. What would he do now? He had no bread, no firewood. He did not even have his red coat, which he had had always, anymore. He had nothing. And with Grantaire at stake, it made everything worse. 

Enjolras, for the first time, perhaps in his life, began to cry. The sobs came slowly at first, racking his body like coughs. The tears were hot in his eyes, and though he tried to hold them back he felt them drip down his chin and mingle with his blood in the snow. A high-pitched whine escaped from the back of his throat and he drew in breath after breath in weak pants. 

“ _ Is this how the world is? _ ” he cried angrily to no one. “Does no one care for equality anymore? For righteousness, for the good in humanity? Who allowed the servants of injustice to walk upon these streets?  _ Does no one listen? _ ” He beat his fists in the air, his eyes squeezed shut, shivering violently in the cold. 

Suddenly, he felt the warmth of a coat thrown over his shoulders from seemingly out of nowhere. “I do,” came a deep voice from behind him. 


	11. Hey, Little Songbird

Enjolras glanced over his shoulder at the black wool cloak that had been put around him. It was warm and well-made; expensive, probably. He rubbed the material between two of his fingers and looked up at the man who had put it over him. 

He recognized him instantly. This was the man from the train station, the man who wore black and grey. He had discarded his dark glasses and bore into Enjolras’ soul with piercing, clear blue eyes. This was Javert, the ruler of Hadestown and the King of the Underworld. 

“What… why…?” Enjolras struggled to get a proper sentence past his lips. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here for you,” Javert answered, offering Enjolras a hand.

Enjolras gave him a suspicious look. “What does that mean?”

“You’re special,” Javert said. “You’re like me. You believe in a better world. A world of integrity, where people don’t hurt other people and wrong-doers are punished.” 

Enjolras took Javert’s hand and was pulled to his feet. “I don’t understand.” 

Javert smiled slightly. “I’m looking for people like you, young man. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about my kingdom. I can assure you that you will hear the truth from me now. What I am striving for is a better world. A world without crime and a world where people are unified. I see it in your eyes. This is the world you want.” 

Enjolras stammered hesitantly and unintelligibly. Was this man trying to pad for his favor? Why on earth was he taking interest in Enjolras? 

“Listen, I must speak fast,” Javert said. “I’m a very busy man, and I can’t stay long. I have people to lead, legions to command. Now, if only there was someone who could help me with that.” 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Javert said, pulling a grey handkerchief from his vest pocket. He offered it to Enjolras, and gestured at the blood dripping from his nose and lips. “You are a born leader, and you sense it in yourself. You long to show the world how it could be, and you need followers to make a difference. This world? There are no believers here. Everyone is resigned to their fates, content to suffer. You  _ hate  _ that, you hate it in your soul. Come with me, boy, to Hadestown, where the believers gather. You could be a leader there. I have organized your troops for you, and they cry out for the right command.” 

Enjolras wiped the blood from his face but never looked away from Javert. “Does this mean you are inviting me? Are you trying to convince me to join you, or something?” Deep down, he had to admit it was a tempting offer. Enjolras was a natural-born leader, though he had always had trouble finding people to lead. No one shared his beliefs, but… if what Javert was saying was true, perhaps there were those who believed. Perhaps there were those out there who hated oppression as much as Enjolras did. If it was true that Javert was assembling a unified world… that would be a miracle. If Enjolras went with him, would he get to see that? Would he be able to live in a world where freedom was a reality? That was what he wanted. 

But he hesitated. Hadn’t he already lived there? For six months that had been his reality. He’d lived a happy life alongside his lover, and even though it had come to an end, his time with Grantaire hadn’t. Javert was wrong that there were no believers, because there was one. Grantaire believed, and that was enough, wasn’t it? 

If he was to go with Javert, it would mean leaving Grantaire behind. He had made a promise to never leave his musician’s side. Was he about to break that promise simply because a shady king offered his employment? 

“I can’t go with you,” Enjolras said finally. “I admit it’s a tempting offer, but I have commitments here. I have someone I need to stay with. I can’t leave him. I won’t leave him.” 

Javert chuckled. “Let me guess… He’s some kind of poet? Nature-oriented? Non-believer? You don’t need him. He’s leeching off you, young man. He doesn’t actually care about you.” 

“You’re wrong,” Enjolras assured him. He’d heard Grantaire sing, and there was no lie in that music. “You don’t know him. We’re in love and I trust him. I won’t leave him alone.” 

Javert shrugged. “Fine. I don’t know what he’s like, so I’ll take your word for it. But, given how I found you… crying in the snow, nearly frozen, like a downed goldfinch, a remnant of shining summer… I’d say he’s not left you in the best of conditions.” 

“He didn’t do that to me!” Enjolras said. “That wasn’t his fault. It was the fault of those gun-toting thugs who think they’re better than everyone else.” 

Javert nodded intently. “They sound like a real problem with the world.” 

“Tell me about it,” Enjolras agreed. 

“If you came with me, little finch, we could eliminate the threat that they pose to you,” Javert said. “Don’t you think you would stand a better chance against them with a gun in your hands and men at your back? If you come with me we can make the world better, just like that.” 

“I told you,” Enjolras said, ignoring the nickname he had been given though he didn’t much like it. “I won’t go with you. I won’t leave Grantaire. There’s no chance he could come with me?” 

Javert shook his head. “It’s all work and no play down there. I’m sure you would benefit from an environment like that, but I’m afraid he’d be terribly out of place. Listen, little finch, I know what it is like to be separated from a lover. What if I told you that you can return to him when the world’s wrongs are righted? Then you can be together in a world where one of you isn’t starving in the snow.” 

“No,” Enjolras said again, but this time with a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I’m not leaving. I’m sorry, but I made a promise. You’ll just have to do without me.” 

Javert gave him a sly smile. “Very well. If that’s your decision. Of course, if you want to reconsider…” He grabbed Enjolras’ wrist gently and pressed something into his palm. It was a bronze coin without a brand. The metal was cold against his skin. “The train doesn’t leave until sundown.” 

“What-?” Enjolras looked at the coin. It didn’t appear to have any monetary value. “What is this?” 

“Your ticket,” Javert replied. He began to walk away. “Remember, the train leaves at sunset. Keep the coat. Black looks better on you than red.” 


	12. When The Chips Are Down

Enjolras stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Had it been his imagination? If Javert had not left his coat, Enjolras would have thought he’d never been there and that he’d been hallucinating. But the warmth was real, the fabric tangible. 

Enjolras’ mind had the audacity to insist to itself that it definitely looked better in red. 

“Weeeeeeell, that’s a mighty rare coin you’ve got in your hand there,” said a snarky voice. Enjolras looked up to find the not-yet-familiar face of M. Thénardier only inches from his own. 

“Hey!” He stumbled backwards, clutching the coin to his chest. “Paws off, crook. I know who you are.” 

“Relax,” said Mme. Thénardier, revealing that she stood behind her husband. “We don’t need a ticket to get to Hadestown.” 

“Then what are you doing here, if not to pickpocket me?” Enjolras demanded. 

“Well, we only heard M. Javert’s offer and wanted to know where you stood,” M. Thénardier said innocently. “We’re curious people, M. Enjolras. Or, should we say, little finch. Haha! Not often that Javert gives out nicknames.”

_ Not often, huh? Does that mean I actually might be special? _ Enjolras took a second look at the coin, or as Javert has called it, his ticket. He wasn’t…  _ actually  _ considering using it, was he? 

“If I were you, I’d take the deal,” Mme. Thénardier suggested. “I mean, Hadestown? The place where no one freezes to death? No one starves? That’s the place to be right about now, hear.” 

“Listen, kid, life ain’t easy,” M. Thénardier said. “Life ain’t fair. You have to fight for your rights if you want ‘em. No one here fights anymore. You’ve been given the opportunity to fight for them! Why wouldn’t you take it?” 

“Why do you care what I do?” Enjolras asked. 

“We don’t have a right to be concerned about a friend?” 

“We are not friends.” 

Mme. Thénardier put her hands over her chest as if she’d been struck. “I’m hurt! Devastated! We are friends of everyone, Monsieur. Just because you’re new doesn’t make you different.” 

“We want what’s best for you,” M. Thénardier said. “And what’s best for you is to go.” 

“I can’t,” Enjolras said softly, partly to reassure himself. “I have to stay with Grantaire.” 

“Grantaire? Why?” M. Thénardier put an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders, much to the latter’s discomfort. “He won’t miss you. He barely looks at you at all anymore, anyways.” 

“How do you know-?” Enjolras felt his feet start to move as M. Thénardier led him forward, his arm not budging from around Enjolras. 

“Come on, Enjolras, you don’t think he actually believes in you? You know this was a summer fling, don’t you? He cares more about his music than he does about you. He keeps you around to bring him food and keep him warm. He’d toss you aside in a second.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Oh, please! Why not? Because he’s such an ardent believer in equality and the freedom of the world?” 

_ No,  _ Enjolras almost said. It was true, though. Grantaire was not exactly faithful in humanity and the goodness inside everyone. He saw the worst in people on most days and was, altogether, a cynic, as opposed to Enjolras’ advocate personality. 

“You’ve never rallied anyone to your cause before,” Mme. Thénardier brought up unhelpfully. “Why should he be any different?” 

“He just is,” Enjolras snapped, trying to drive his heels into the snow to stop them moving. It didn’t work, and he just started sliding through the snow and M. Thénardier guided him. “Let go of me. I’m going home.” 

“Trying to be faithful? Or what, to have integrity? Do you know what being good in this world gets you, boy? A knife in the back. Trust us, it’s better if you take our advice.”

“I really don’t think it is.” Enjolras threw the arm off his shoulders and pushed Thénardier away. “Don’t touch me again.” 

Thénardier held his hands up. “Whatever you say, kid. I’m just telling you now that in the summer when things are good, everyone seems like a believer. But now? When the stakes are high? When the chips are down? The only person you can trust is yourself.” 

Mme. Thénardier nodded. “It’s true. The walls are gonna come down sooner or later, and no one is going to risk their necks to protect you or stay by your side. You’re better off alone, any way the wind blows.” 

Both of them seemed to vanish into thin air the moment Enjolras took his eyes off them to wrap the coat more tightly around his shoulders. By the time he looked back, he was standing alone in the orange light of sunset. He looked around to see where the Thénardiers had taken him. 

He was standing outside of the train station. 


	13. Gone, I'm Gone

_ Sunset. It’s sunset already. The train will be leaving soon. It’s now or never. Decision time, Enjolras. Make up your mind.  _

He rubbed his thumb over the coin a few times. What were his options? 

He could stay. He could continue to scrounge for food and firewood, freezing in the daytime and practically glaciating at night. He could try to survive the winter on an empty stomach with no money and no job. He could keep trying to rally the people, but in vain. It was futile, he knew. Everyone here had too much at stake to risk revolution. But if he stayed, he could be with Grantaire. 

Yes, he could be with Grantaire, but only in proximity. The musician barely spoke to him, barely looked him in the eye anymore. Was he staying for that? For the briefest of acknowledgments from the man he loved?

On the other hand, he could board the train. He could travel to Hadestown, where it was warm and there was food to go around. He could be a leader of armies, and he could command the world to equality. He could establish a republic, and who knows? Perhaps he wouldn’t have to waste lives in doing so. He could have all of Javert’s resources at his disposal. He could free the whole world. But it would mean leaving Grantaire. 

He found himself climbing the stairs and entering the station, and looking at the open car door. The only one in sight was Éponine, who stood on one leg leaning against the train. She held a book in her hands and was engrossed in it, so much so that she didn’t even notice Enjolras there. She probably wasn’t expecting anyone to show up. 

Yes, if he boarded the train now it would mean leaving Grantaire. But, he thought, for now long? If he worked hard and accomplished his goal, he could return to Grantaire triumphantly, waving a flag of freedom. If he fixed the world, perhaps Grantaire wouldn’t have to work so hard on his song. He could take a break, he would have food and a warm house, just like everyone would. Was leaving him for a little while worth bringing him a lifetime of happiness? If Enjolras left him now, wouldn’t he be fine? He had survived on his own before Enjolras had come into his life. Surely he could survive once he was gone? And it wasn’t like he would be gone permanently or anything. Enjolras would come back. 

Éponine finally noticed Enjolras standing there. She had an unreadable expression on her face. “Are you here to board the train? Do you have a ticket?” 

Enjolras looked down at the coin which he still grasped tightly. His mind was a whirlwind. 

_ Stay with Grantaire. Starve. Freeze.  _

_ Leave and come back later. Free the world.  _

_ Decision time.  _

“I’m sorry, Grantaire,” he whispered. “But I’m already gone.”

He handed Éponine the coin and boarded the train. 

“I’m gone.” 


	14. Wait For Me

Grantaire noticed after a few hours that Enjolras hadn’t come home. He didn’t know what he had expected when he sent his lover out, but it seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time for him to return with just a loaf of bread. 

R finally opted to sling his guitar over his shoulder for a minute and go out to look for him. The terrifying thought of the men in uniforms flashed through his mind. He saw Enjolras saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and getting shot. Suddenly his steps out the door and through the street became all the more urgent. 

The snow was falling too fast for Enjolras’ footprints to be visible by that point. Grantaire arrived at Marius and Cosette’s house and rapped on the door anxiously. Marius answered. “Grantaire? What are you doing here? Enjolras just came by, he already picked up some food for the two of you.” 

“So he was here?” Grantaire asked nervously, beginning to panic. “You saw him?” 

“Yes. Is something wrong?”

“He isn’t home yet. I didn’t see him on the way here, and I’m beginning to think something may have happened.” 

Marius thought for a moment. “Perhaps he took the left route back? You came from the right so you wouldn’t have seen him.” 

Grantaire nodded unsurely. “I’ll look down that way. Thank you.” 

Marius gave him a tight smile goodbye and Grantaire set off again. It didn’t take long before he saw a dark spot in the snow. There were no windows around this corner of the street, so whatever happened here, no one would have seen. 

He crouched down, ignoring the crunch of snow getting his boots wet, and examined the spots. They were red, beginning to turn brown, but it was still the unmistakable color of blood. 

_ Enjolras’ blood? Is he dead? No, it can’t be. There’s not enough blood to indicate a gunshot wound. _ There was no one there, no one to tell him what had happened. Wait, no… there was someone leaning against a wall, watching Grantaire intently. 

“Gavroche,” Grantaire called. “Do you know what happened here?” 

“Are you referring to the blood?” The little boy asked, coming closer. 

“Yes, I am. Do you know whose it is?” 

“You don’t want to know whose it is. You just want to know if it’s Enjolras’.” 

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Do you know?” 

Gavroche gave him a dark look. “Luckily for you, I saw everything. Yes, it’s his blood.” 

Grantaire choked back a sob, taking in a breath instead. Tears threatened to spill from behind his eyes, but he kept a straight face. “What made him bleed?” 

“Three men in uniform. He was talking back and, suffice to say, they didn’t like it.” Gavroche frowned. “I would have helped, but Petit-Gervais was scared.” He pointed to a porch a few feet away, and sure enough, a very small boy was scrunched under the wood planks, shivering. “He wanted me to stay and protect him. Anyways, they roughed Enjolras up a bit. Enough to make him bleed. They took his bread and his jacket and left him in the snow. He started crying, but… well, uh…” 

“Well what?” Grantaire demanded, suddenly taking Gavroche by the shoulders and giving him a light shake. “Gavroche, what happened next?”

“Javert,” Gavroche said gravely. “He showed up out of nowhere. Gave Enjy a new coat and a ticket to Hadestown. Then the Thénardiers showed up and started walking him towards the train station. That’s all I saw.” 

Grantaire put a hand over his mouth, holding back another sob. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, trying to contain a panic attack. “Thank you, Gavroche,” he managed to say. He let the boy go, and ran to the train station, huffing to keep back tears. 

Sure enough, the train was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Enjolras. 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire called anyways. “Apollo? Are you here?” 

“Well, well, well,” said a grim voice from behind him. “If it isn’t M. Artiste himself. Aren’t you supposed to be working on your masterpiece?” 

“Where’s Enjolras?” Grantaire asked. 

“Oh, what do you care,” Éponine sighed, coming into sight. “You’ll find someone else sooner or later.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Why do you want to know?” 

“You know exactly why,” Grantaire asserted. “I need to find him. Where is he? Do you know?” He paused, allowing himself a moment to think the worst. “Did he take the train?” 

Éponine bit her lip. “Yes.” 

The world began to implode. The walls were suddenly very close, the ceiling too low. The air was too thick for Grantaire to breath in. He fell to his knees, the guitar at his back making a musical  _ bang  _ as it hit the cement floor. “Oh, Apollo. No…” 

“I’m sorry Grantaire,” Éponine said, crouching beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” 

“How can I get there?” Grantaire demanded, suddenly very firm. He pushed back his tears and gave Éponine a stony glare. “I have to follow him. How do I get a ticket?”

“What?” Éponine drew back. “Grantaire, you don’t want to go down there. Oh, God…” she put a hand over her face. “Of course you do. Because you’d go anywhere for him, wouldn’t you?” 

“To the end of time,” Grantaire agreed. “To the end of the Earth.” 

“I can’t give you a ticket,” Éponine said. “I’m sorry.” 

“There has to be another way.” 

“Grantaire, I… I’m not really supposed to talk about it.” 

He gripped Éponine by the front of her shirt and pulled her close. “Please, Éponine. If we are friends, you will do this for me. Please. I need to follow him. How do I get there?” 

“Around the back,” Éponine admitted. “But it’s not easy walking. It’s not for the sensitive of souls, Grantaire. It’s a grueling journey and I don’t even know if a regular human could make it. Are you sure you want to go?” 

“With all my heart,” Grantaire assured her. 

She sighed. “With all your heart…” she repeated miserably. “Well, that’s a start.” 

She led Grantaire through a back door in the train station and suddenly they were outside of town, railroad tracks cutting just above the snow in ominous black lines. They spanned farther than Grantaire could see, over the horizon and further still. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Éponine asked one more time. “I can show you the way but you’ll still have to do a lot of the journey by yourself.” 

Grantaire sucked in a determined breath. “I can do it.”

Éponine gave him a skeptical look but pointed in the direction the train tracks went. “Alright then. You’ll have to take the long way down, through the underground. Go now, under cover of night. Be sure that no one sees you. There’s no map, no compass to guide you. For now, just follow the railroad tracks as far as you can, until you get to the tunnel. Wait for me there.” 

Grantaire nodded. He turned around to thank Éponine, but she was already gone. 

_ That’s that, then.  _

He began walking.

* * *

The walk was much, much longer and harder than he’d anticipated. The thick snow made it especially hard to keep upright and balanced, and his clothes weren’t thick enough to keep him from shivering violently. He felt water in his shoes from melted snow that had leaked in, and his hair was covered in snowflakes, giving him a white, pale look. He hugged his guitar close to keep it at least warmer than he was, and to keep the neck and strings from warping. He was hungry, and exerting so much energy did not make it easier. He was afraid to walk on the tracks themselves for fear of slipping on the metal and falling on his head. Being run over by the train was not quite as realistic a fear, but the thought did cross his mind. 

The night air was even colder than the daytime, so every breath Grantaire took he could see in the air. His throat was parched, and at one point he ate some snow to see if that would quench him. It didn’t, but it helped a bit. 

The flat land seemed to go on for miles and miles, never rising or falling. There were no trees or even dead plants to be seen. If Grantaire couldn’t see the faint outlines of his footprints behind him, he might have thought he wasn’t even moving. His ankles were killing him. He rolled them every so often to keep them from buckling, but it wasn’t much comfort.

However, when he saw mountain ridges on the horizon, he began to hope again. He’d been walking for hours and light could be seen over the skyline behind him, signifying that the sun would rise soon. 

He was expecting the tracks to go into a tunnel in the mountainside and slowly decline into the earth, but he was quite wrong. In fact, he never made it to the mountains. The tracks suddenly cut off into a huge hole, and it went straight down. It looked like it dropped off a cliff, and Grantaire would have thought a meteor had hit the earth and made a crater in the middle of the tracks if they didn’t also drop with the hole, turning vertical, like a ladder nailed to the rocky walls of the abyss. 

“What the hell?” Grantaire asked no one. Valjean had said the descent had been subtle, and when one sat in the train they barely noticed they were going down. This hole indicated otherwise. Obviously there was some inhuman force at work. 

Grantaire crouched by the edge of the drop and looked down, leaning as far over as he dared. The hole was deep, very deep, and he could barely make out the glow of firelight at the very bottom. The walls were rough and if it had been summer, he might have been able to scale his way down. However, in the bitter cold of winter, his fingers were nearly frozen. If he tried to climb down now, he doubted his hands would be strong and dexterous enough to hold him up for more than two minutes. A fall from that height would kill him instantly. He could try to use the train tracks as ladder rungs, but he had the feeling the problem would be very similar. Slippery metal and cold hands did not inspire confidence. Besides, if a train were to come in that instance, he would not be able to jump off the tracks like he could above ground. He would be hit head on. 

He remembered that Éponine had told him to wait for her there. He hugged his knees close after clearing a circle of snow away to make room for him to sit. How long would he be there? How long would she keep him waiting? The sun would be up soon, and he had been told to stay out of sight. 

As it turned out, he did not have to wait long. He felt a tap on his shoulder and she was standing behind him, a surprised look on her face. Probably because she hadn’t expected him to make it this far. 

“You are still alive,” she said. 

“I noticed,” Grantaire replied through clacking teeth. 

“Alright, let’s get you out of the cold,” she said. She began to feel around in the snow. 

“What are you looking for?” 

“A trap door, a way for you to walk. Or, crawl, rather. Help me look for the handle. Wait, don’t. Your hands will get frostbite.” 

Grantaire clutched his hands to his chest protectively. 

Éponine eventually found what she was looking for and tugged hard. A square patch of snow fell away to reveal a metal hatch, and a dark staircase going down into the earth. 

“Oh. Well, stairs aren’t so bad.” Grantaire shrugged and took the first few steps down. 

“I assure you that it’s not stairs the whole way,” Éponine warned. 

“That’s very comforting.” 

“Good luck. Eventually you’ll get to an open cave. Wait there for me. Whatever you do, don’t go farther than that before I can give you more instructions.” 

“Why don’t you just give me instructions now?” 

“Because if you know what’s waiting for you I’m afraid you might not have enough confidence to make it through this part.” 

Grantaire sighed and shivered again. “Great.” 

“See you.” 

“Yep.” 

Grantaire went down the stairs quickly. The farther down he went, the warmer it got. He rubbed his hands together to get the blood flowing and tested the strings on his guitar, which he still had. Thankfully, they were still secure, though they might need to be re-tuned. 

Soon enough, the stairs began to get narrowed and steeper. They were turning to a straight drop like a ramp, and if there hadn’t been holds in the walls by his sides, Grantaire was sure he would have fallen down them. 

When he got far enough that he couldn’t feel the cold anymore, he took a minute to catch his breath. His feet felt much better now that he could use his arms to support himself. However, he was running out of steam. His stomach felt like it was about to implode from emptiness and his eyelids were heavier than they’d ever been. 

_ Keep going _ , he urged himself.  _ Enjolras is down there. He’s depending on you. You have to find him again.  _

_ I’m coming, Enjolras. Wait for me. _

When the stairs disappeared altogether, the tunnel became more like a cave system. There was almost no light, and what there was came from tiny lightbulbs in the walls. If there were lightbulbs, that meant humans were supposed to go down there, right?  _ Right _ ? 

Grantaire took a deep breath. He wasn’t exactly claustrophobic, but the holes he would have to crawl down looked like they would barely fit one of his legs much less his whole body. If he got stuck in one no one would ever find him. If the cave collapsed or even squeezed a little bit he would be certainly crushed. 

_ I’m coming.  _

He dropped his guitar down first, knowing that if it was strapped to his back they would be too thick to fit down the hole. He lowered himself down next, his arms trembling with the effort to keep his descent slow and controlled. 

It went on like this for a matter of hours, a very slow and methodical approach. The air was getting warmer which was a welcome change at first, but soon enough Grantaire was sweating through his shirt and wishing he had brought some snow with him, or at least water. When he swallowed, it felt like trying to gulp down a rock, and when he moved his clothes stuck to his sweaty skin. His hair, which was filled with snow, had become wet as the crystals melted, and now water dripped down his face and into his eyes. He almost burned himself several times when he came dangerously close to touching the lightbulbs embedded in the walls. 

Eventually, the holes started getting larger and wider. He could strap his guitar back on. The drop levelled out, and he could put the weight back on his legs to give his arms a deserved rest. He walked down the thicker tunnel for about an hour, praying that it might lead to somewhere with cool water, or at least a place to rest. When he finally emerged into a space big enough for him to stand up straight and lay down flat, he didn’t even look around to assess it. He just flopped down on his back and breathed, trying to remember what it had felt like to not be shaking from strain. 

He lay there for an uncounted amount of minutes, before Éponine appeared above him. She stood over him, hands on her hips. “You aren’t looking so good.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Grantaire breathed. “I’ve never looked better.” 

“Do you need a few more minutes?” 

“Nonononononono,” Grantaire groaned as he pulled himself upright. “I’m fine. I can keep going.” 

“Alright, if you say so. Here, I brought something.” Éponine pulled a bone out from somewhere in her deep pockets and held it out to him. 

“Am I supposed to eat this?” 

“Are you that hungry?” 

He took the bone, somewhat confusedly, giving Éponine a dry look. “Seriously, what is this for?”

“We’re at the wall, Grantaire. Look around.” 

Grantaire took a moment to examine his surroundings. The cavern was as vast as the hall of a great cathedral. There were hanging lanterns all around, like little drops of light off the stalactites. Sure enough, on the other end of it, past tall stalagmites that looked like buildings in their own right, a cinder-brick wall blocked the other half of the cavern off. 

Éponine led him around the twists and turns of the maze that was the floor of the cavern. “Now, as I’m sure you can see, the wall is not going to be easy to get through. It’s known as the Styx. High and wide, razor wize at the top, and hound dogs waiting for you on the other side. That’s what the bone is for, by the way. Behind that wall there’s another, shorter one that’s meant to keep the dogs out of the city part of Hadestown. Obviously the thicker wall is the one we’re worrying about right now. But I don’t know how we’re going to get you across.” 

“What?” He whirled her around to face him. “Ponine, are you saying this is as far as you can take me?” 

She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Grantaire. I did all I could.” 

He took a few deep breaths. “No, no, it’s okay. You didn’t have to help me get this far. I can figure out the rest by myself.” 

Éponine pressed her lips together. “If you say so. Look, I’ll give you one last piece of advice. Once you get in there? Don’t give anyone your name. As of now, you don’t have one anymore. Don’t look people in the eyes. Don’t let them get the better of you. These people are desperate and they don’t get visitors. I wouldn’t get close to any of them if I was you. Good luck, Grantaire. I’ll see you sooner or later.” 

The next moment she was gone. Grantaire was alone. 

The truth was he already knew how he was going to get past the wall. He pulled his guitar into his arms and hesitated. In theory, his song had already been powerful enough to make flowers grow… given, that had been when Enjolras was around. Now, he was alone and exhausted in a dark cave facing a wall of rock. It was possible that not even his music was enough to open the stones up. 

_ Who are you?  _ A voice echoed from somewhere. He would have thought it was his own thoughts if he hadn’t recognized the tone as that of M. Thénardier. 

“You know who I am,” Grantaire said. 

_ Where do you think you’re going? _ Mme. Thénardier followed up. Grantaire whirled around, looking for them, but it was as if their voices were only in his head. 

“Thénardier, this isn’t funny-” 

_ Why are you all alone?  _

“Thénardier-” 

_ Who are you?  _

_ Who are you to think that you can walk this road? To do the impossible, to go where no one has gone before? Who do you think you are?  _

Grantaire put a hand to his forehead, trying to drown out the voices. The last thing he needed right then was self-doubt. He thought instead of his first meeting with Enjolras, the first time he had ever managed to make his music accomplish something physical. His faith in Enjolras had literally been able to make flowers grow. It had created life from nothing. If it could do that, it could break down a wall. 

And despite everything, Grantaire had faith in Enjolras. His lover had promised he would stay, and he wasn’t one to break promises. There was a reason for all of this, Grantaire was sure. And when he found and rescued his Apollo, everything would make sense. 

He closed his eyes and began to sing. 

The notes poured out of him like honey, and they bounced off the cave walls creating a chorus effect. His guitar, trusty as ever, hummed under his fingers as he plucked the strings. He pulled his melodies out of thin air, thinking of Enjolras. His golden hair, his cerulean eyes, his determined smile. This wall was the only thing between them anymore. He was going to tear it down.

The gray bricks began to crack. Grantaire didn’t dare open his eyes, but he could hear the dust falling as the stones split. He swore he could even hear them dripping as though they were weeping. The ground trembled slightly and Grantaire staggered back after a moment, trying to catch his balance. 

Though the effects were small at first, they resulted in an avalanche all of a sudden. Grantaire barely had time to jump backwards as the cracks in the wall spiderwebbed at exponential speeds and brought the stones down like a rockslide. There was gray dust everywhere, and he coughed when he put his guitar down, waving a hand in front of his face. He felt the dust particles glue themselves to his skin with the sweat on his face, but he didn’t have time to think about wiping it off when suddenly a cacophony of dog barks broke through the air. 

In the dusty fog, Grantaire didn’t get a good look at the dogs. All he knew was that there were many of them and they were very large. Their barks were loud and frightening, and Grantaire didn’t have time to think. He acted on instinct, grabbing the bone and throwing it in another direction. It seemed to work on the dogs who, like a school of piranhas, darted to surround the bone and proceeded to fight over it, barking and gnawing at each other’s faces. 

Grantaire didn’t wait for them to finish it and move on to him. He moved as quickly as he dared to over the rubble of the Styx and inside it, past the huge hole he’d ripped right through the foot-thick stone. He didn’t stop running in the other cavern, which he noticed was much brighter, and until he found a vertical step-ladder over the second ring of the wall. He scaled it like a lemur and practically flung himself over it, falling first to his knees on the other side, then fully splaying himself over the ground in a spread-eagle, breathing heavily. 

He kept his eyes shut, the glare being too bright for him. It gave him a headache. It was also very, very loud. He could hear machinery all around him, chugging and stamping like a giant metal orchestra that was horribly out of tune. By the sound of it, this cavern was huge. Really huge. Large enough to fit an entire industrial city. Enjolras was out there somewhere. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, most likely. But it was Enjolras, so Grantaire had to try. 

_ I’m coming.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably no one cares, but I imagined the descent to be something like this: https://www.reddit.com/r/MakeMeSuffer/comments/gt9v1w/thats_a_hard_pass_from_me/


	15. Why We Build The Wall

Javert stepped onto the platform which served as a stage and tested the microphone in front of him with a few light taps. People were stepping into the auditorium, confused looks in their eyes. These were the people who had just signed their contracts, the ones who didn’t yet know what they had volunteered for. They were all fanning themselves at the heat they were still getting used to, sweat beginning to bead on their brows. 

“My children,” he said calmly into the mic to get their attention. “Welcome to your new home. This is Hadestown. I’m sure you’ve each heard your fair share of rumors and legends surrounding this place, but let me assure you, this is a safe place for you. I have bread and water to share, and warm beds for you to sleep in. You will never go hungry again. You will never freeze.” 

There was a murmuring among the crowd, some excited, a few skeptical. Each one looked up at him with both fear and hope in their eyes. Many had come here to start a new life, and each of them believed in what Javert had promised them: a free, righteous world. 

“All I ask in return is your hard work. Each of you is a dedicated, passionate human capable of committing yourself to this cause. No task is too small for you to throw yourself into completely. Now, you’ve signed your contracts and this means that I own you now.”

At this statement, the crowd faltered backwards in unison. They looked at each other in confusion as if asking _ ‘Did your contract say that? I didn’t see that’. _ But it was too late for them. They had signed it. Their deals were sealed. 

“There is never a shortage of labor in Hadestown,” Javert continued. “It will seem grueling. It will seem unpleasant. I know this. But you must keep in mind that you are working for a good cause. Remember what you are fighting for! This is larger than any of you. This is for the greater good of the world. Those who follow the path of the righteous shall have their reward.” 

The crowd, though still quite hesitant, nodded at this in agreement. A few of them were still trying to wrap their heads around what had happened. 

“I trust you can take care of them from here?” Javert asked one of his lieutenants, turning away from the crowd. At her nod, Javert dipped his head at the crowd before turning on his heel and heading for the train station.

* * *

Enjolras stepped off the train with nothing but a black coat that wasn’t even his. He looked around at the monstrous cavern, large enough to house an entire city, and gasped in the sudden heat. It was more welcome than icy cold, but still not the most pleasant he’d ever felt. 

He stripped the coat off his shoulders, beginning to sweat, when Javert stepped out of one of the doors to the rest of the city. He gave Enjolras a smile. “Hello, little finch. Glad to see that you made the right choice.” 

“What happens now?” Enjolras asked, doing away with formalities. The truth was that he was already starting to second-guess his decision. Even the short train ride to Hadestown had been long enough for him to begin to miss Grantaire. 

“There are papers to be signed,” Javert answered. He held out a hand. “Step into my office.” 

Enjolras followed him up a set of stairs and through a set of gilded doors. Javert welcomed him in, and once the younger man was past the threshold, he closed the doors behind them. 

Now, a lot can happen behind closed doors. This has been true from the moment doors were invented. What happened behind that door in particular? No one really knows, except the two men inside. 

In any case, Enjolras had no idea what he was getting into. 


	16. Way Down Hadestown (reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I skipped Our Lady of the Underground, but not a lot would have happened in that chapter so I spared myself the stress of having to come up with content for it. Sorry.

Enjolras stepped out of that office with a slight dizziness. Javert had given him a stack of papers, each one with a thin black line at the bottom for Enjolras to sign. At first, Enjolras had tried to read each paper carefully as he often did before signing anything. However, there was something about the way the words were written, or the tiny font size, or perhaps just about the contract in general that made reading it almost impossible. Three words in and Enjolras felt a headache pressing at the base of his skull and his temples, and past the first sentence he’d already forgotten what he’d read. Pushing aside his doubts and deciding to trust Javert, he’d signed the contract without reading the terms and conditions. 

“The deal is signed?” a lieutenant by the foot of the stairs asked. 

“Yes,” Enjolras replied. 

“About time,” the other man muttered. “Come with me.” 

Enjolras noticed the judgmental look in the man’s eyes. “I did what I had to do,” he said defensively. 

“I’m sure,” the man replied. “That’s what everyone else did, too.” 

After being given a black and brown uniform to wear, Enjolras was escorted by Javert’s lieutenant to a large building with thin walls and tall sliding doors. He stepped inside to find it filled with other people, young men like him, each wearing the same uniform as he. These youths all stood with hunched shoulders and looked on with tired eyes, their head barely even turning when Enjolras entered. They stood in rows, everyone in a place on a long assembly line that went from wall to wall. They were assembling pieces of something Enjolras didn’t recognize. 

After an awkward moment’s silence, Enjolras stepped up to one of the boys. He wore glasses and had a bookish look about him, but he was thin and had heavy bags under his eyes. 

“I’m Enjolras,” Enjolras said, sticking his hand out to shake. 

The boy looked at his eyes, then his hand, then his eyes again, before nodding weakly and turning away. Enjolras tilted his head. 

“Doesn’t anybody hear me?” He asked incredulously, looking to the other boys. No one even gave him a second glance. 

“They can hear,” The lieutenant said. “But they don’t care. No one has a name down here.” 

“Well, that’s going to change,” Enjolras decided. “Javert brought me here to lead, so that’s what I'll do. First things first, everyone is an individual with their own identity. Everyone has a name.” 

The lieutenant held back a laugh with the back of his hand. “ _ What _ ? Wait, you think Javert brought you here to do  _ what _ ?” 

“Lead,” Enjolras said, somewhat doubtful this time. 

The lieutenant chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, you poor boy. No, no he didn’t. Get on the line, buddy. You’re here to work.” 

“No,” Enjolras protested. “He told me. He promised me. He said that he was looking for someone like me. He said that. Did he lie? He wouldn’t lie.” 

The lieutenant straightened up. “Look, bud, I’m sorry for whatever Javert made you believe. But if you don’t get to work, I’m going to have to insist.” 

“ _ No _ ,” Enjolras said, more firmly this time. He turned to the other boys. “Do you hear this? Is this policy down here? To doubt the words of colleagues? Or to straight up lie?” His opinions of Hadestown were changing by the minute, and his heart was starting to pound. Upon closer inspection, he did recognize what they were assembling. 

Rifles. Long, wood-enameled rifles that were sickeningly familiar. Enjolras recognized the exact weapons that had been wielded by the men in uniform back in the real world. Those rifles had been aimed at him. He’d had one driven into his stomach. He suddenly felt very faint. 

Were those men working for Javert? Had the man of justice himself lied to Enjolras? Had he been deceived? 

None of the boys even looked up. 

“Why won’t anybody look at me?” the blond roared at them. 

“They can look,” The lieutenant said. “But they don’t see. It’s just easier that way. Your eyes will look like that too, someday.” 

In anger, he whirled around. “What? What do you mean?” 

“It’s just what happens down here,” the lieutenant explained. “When you signed the deal with Javert, you didn’t read it, did you?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“It’s a contract of ownership. You don’t belong to yourself anymore, buddy. You belong to Hadestown and to Javert. You’re just a worker now. You’re going to be here forever, working your ass off. Maybe it’s just something about this place, but the workers here don’t really know themselves beyond their labor. That way, they have nothing to want to go back to. Like I said, it’s easier that way. It just becomes who you are. These people don’t even remember who they were before Hadestown.” 

“But don’t you see,” he tried to say, “It’s different with me.” 

“Different than who?” The lieutenant laughed again. “They thought they were different too.” 

The blond furrowed his brows. “No, I can’t… that can’t… I have to go.” 

He pushed past the lieutenant, who called, “Go where?” 

“Go back.” 

“Oh? And where is that?” 

The blond man stopped in his tracks, only a few feet away from the factory. 

“What was your name again?” The lieutenant followed up. 

The man opened his mouth to answer, but found that though the idea was at the tip of his tongue, to his shame and fear, he couldn’t recall. 

“You’ve already forgotten,” the lieutenant teased. 

The man put a hand to his forehead and tried to steady his breathing. He hated it, but the lieutenant was right. He couldn’t remember… he couldn’t remember his name, or… where… where was he going? Why had he come here? His heart began pounding when he realized he didn’t even know where he’d come from or how he’d gotten there. 

“I’ve seen it a thousand times, buddy. People come for the promise of safety, equality, food and water, but they stay because they have no other choice.” 

The man resumed his fast pace, away from the factory, away from those other men, away from the lieutenant and his bitter truths. Away from everything. 

He wandered, stumbling over dusty ground, until his breathing became too frantic for him to see straight and he collapsed to his knees in a clearing. It resembled… it resembled  _ something _ , but he didn’t know  _ what _ . There was an empty fountain, devoid of water, in a circular open area. He fell right in front of the fountain, bracing an arm against the cool stone and bashing the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to remember  _ anything _ . Anything at all. The name of his mother, the place he grew up. It all came up blank. 

_ What have I done?  _ he despaired. 


	17. Flowers

The man sat there, shaking. His breathing came in short, consecutive, rhythmic pants. His vision was blurring and tinted purple, and his pulse was so loud he was sure it must have been a heart attack. He couldn’t get a breath in, something must have been choking him. There was a pain in his chest, a dull throb that only served to scare him more. 

Panic washed over him like a wave or a riptide pulling a small child out to sea. He couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t see straight, nothing was straight and there were no answers and he didn’t know anything and the walls were falling in and  _ who was he? Who was he? Who was he?  _

This hadn’t been what he wanted. He was sure of that. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he had been deceived. He had been promised freedom, and he had been given slavery. 

_ Freedom _ , he repeated in his head, determined to keep at least that there.  _ I wanted freedom. I want freedom. Equality for all people. Equality. Equality.  _

He said it in his head, then out loud, again and again. He had to remember this one thing. If nothing else, he had to remember this. 

_ Oh, God _ , he thought to himself. He had thought the world was good once, he supposed. He had believed in dreams and the goodness of men. But dreams were only sweet until they weren’t. Men were only kind until they weren’t. Good things didn’t last. People died, the sun set, flowers rotted. 

_ Flowers _ , the man thought. _ I can remember those _ . They had been colorful, hadn’t they? There had been so many of them. When he realized he might be uncovering a memory, the man tried to trace it. He tried to recall everything he could, every last detail, before it was lost to whatever force was taking over his mind. 

Yes, there had been fields of flowers. He had walked through them, his hair loose, wind at his back. Had he walked alone? 

No, he hadn’t. There had been someone else there. He couldn’t recall a name or a face or even an identity, but there had been  _ someone _ . This someone must have been special, if the man could remember them even through his magical amnesia. 

Yes, this someone had been there for him. They had walked by his side, smiled at him perhaps, their face turned to his. 

But he had turned away. He had left, for some reason, for some empty pursuit of freedom. He had forgotten that he had been free already, by the side of this someone. He had broken some promise, he remembered. He had betrayed them. 

_ You _ , he thought hopelessly.  _ The one I left behind. I doubt I’ll ever see you again. I doubt I’ll ever even remember your name. But I have faith in you. If ever you walk this way…  _

_ Come find me. Please.  _


	18. Come Home With Me (reprise)

The man lay there for a few minutes… maybe hours? He didn’t know. He wasn’t counting. He thought he might be able to get his breathing under control, but all that really happened was a battle against tears. He sucked in breath after breath, determined not to cry. 

Now, Grantaire had been wandering Hadestown for about an hour at this point. He’d been sure to keep his head low and his eyes averted from everyone. He’d only seen some very sad-looking people in brown uniforms, and they hadn’t paid him any mind. He was wandering around aimlessly, hoping that he would run into his lover sooner or later, or at least before he was caught. 

He was right. He turned a corner, and to his immense surprise and relief, he saw him. There, crouched in front of a dead fountain: Enjolras, golden hair and pale skin and  _ ohmyGodhe’sokayhe’salive-  _

Grantaire swayed a bit, overwhelmed. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, before he staggered forward. 

“Come home with me,” he said weakly, stumbling over his last few steps before falling to his knees right in front of Enjolras and throwing his arms around him, breathing heavily. 

And there, in this strange man’s embrace, everything came back to the blond man as if it had never left. He was Enjolras, and this was Grantaire. “It’s you,” he breathed in disbelief. How on earth could he have forgotten Grantaire? 

“It’s me,” Grantaire affirmed as tears began to leak from his eyes. 

Enjolras overcame his surprise and returned R’s embrace, beginning to cry a bit as well. How could he not? He pulled back for one moment to press his lips against Grantaire’s in a sloppy kiss. 

“But… I left you,” Enjolras said shakily, with his lips still touching R’s and his voice filled with regret. 

“You did,” Grantaire agreed, “But I don’t care. I had to find you. This was my fault.” 

“No, no, nonono, it wasn’t your fault,” Enjolras said. “It was mine. This was all my fault, I promised I would stay with you-” 

“And I promised to believe in you,” Grantaire interrupted. “To love you. But I was so focused on finishing the song for you I didn’t appreciate you, and I’m so sorry-” 

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Enjolras moved his hands up to weave them through Grantaire’s curly black hair. “You came for me. I left and you still came. You…” He pulled back. “How did you get here? By God, Grantaire, tell me you didn’t take the train-” 

“I didn’t, I swear. I walked. Éponine showed me the way. It was a long way but by Heaven it was worth it.” 

“How’d you get beyond the wall?” 

Grantaire smiled cheekily. “I sang a song so beautiful that the stones wept and let me in. And I can do it again, to get us home.” 

At these words, Enjolras’ head fell and he choked back a sob. He suddenly remembered the words of that damn lieutenant, and they broke his spirit as a hammer might break a glass chalice. “No, you can’t.” 

“Yes, I can,” Grantaire insisted. 

“ _ No _ ,” Enjolras said more firmly. “You don’t understand.” 

Grantaire opened his mouth to argue when a third voice from behind him spoke up. 

“ _ Young man _ .” 


	19. Papers

Both men whirled around to find that a crowd had gathered around the clearing while they had been distracted with each other. The workers stood in large groups, each with a blank expression on their face. There were also men in uniforms and a few lieutenants sprinkled in with them, whose expressions were either eagerness or dread. The Thénardiers were there for some reason, sick smiles on their faces. At the front of the crowd, with a dark look on his face, was the man who had spoken: Javert himself. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” the inspector said, his face unreadable. “You’re not from around here, son. I don’t know who the hell you are, but it’s clear as day that you don’t belong.” He gestured to the crowd around them. “There are working people, son. Law-abiding citizens. Go back to where you came from, now.” He glared at Grantaire. “You’re on the wrong side of the fence.” 

“Javert,” called a fourth voice. Valjean was shoving his way through the sea of people, fighting to get to the front. He had recognized Grantaire’s voice, even his speaking one, from the back of the crowd. “I know this boy.” 

“One of the unemployed,” Javert said to him. 

“His name is Grantaire,” Valjean continued, taking his place at his lover’s side. 

“You stay out of this,” Javert warned. An officer pulled Valjean back. Javert turned back to Grantaire. “You hear me son? You’d better run along, now.” 

Grantaire was, by many people’s standards, weak. He wasn’t particularly tough and had been known to bend like a reed under strong wind when someone pushed him around. However, with Enjolras in his arms, he was possessed by a strength he’d never felt before. He was determined to keep his Apollo right there, and if Javert was going to try to separate them, then Grantaire would fight. 

“Grantaire, please.” Enjolras’ voice was filled with a desperation that was new to both him and Grantaire. “You should go.” 

“No,” Grantaire decided. “I’m not going back alone.” He turned to Javert. “I came to take him home.” 

Javert gave him a stern look, but it slowly began to twist into a strange kind of smile, before Javert’s lips split and revealed his teeth. He chuckled menacingly. Soon his chuckles turned into a full-blown laugh. “Who the hell do you think you are? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” He stepped forward, holding a hand out to lightly brush Enjolras’ hair. The blond swatted his hand away, looking guilty. “He couldn’t go anywhere, even if he wanted to.” 

“What?” Grantaire’s arms loosened a bit as he looked up at Javert incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re not from around here, son,” Javert explained. “If you were, then you would know: Everything and everyone in Hadestown belongs to me. And that means no one leaves unless I say so.”

“What?” 

“Everyone who comes down here signs a contract of ownership, surrendering their rights to me. I own your little goldfinch now, and that means he does what I tell him to. This is the Law. To break it is to scorn the order of things, and that will not be tolerated.” 

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who would not meet his eyes. Grantaire had known Enjolras had chosen to come here, but… surely he wouldn’t have been so desperate that he would sign his life away? “Enjolras? Apollo? Tell me you didn’t sign the deal. Please tell me you didn’t sign it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras whispered. 

Grantaire’s hope was crushed just as quickly as it had been restored only seconds ago. So it was true. Enjolras had known what he was doing the whole time, and he’d still gone ahead with it. Grantaire tried to find it in himself to feel betrayed, as he knew he should, but all he could really feel was despair. Of course Enjolras had left him. Who was he to keep such an untamed beauty? Who was Grantaire to say he loved Enjolras, and to ask him to stay? Grantaire was no one. 

“Well, now that that’s established,” Javert said, “I think it’s time we address the facts. To get in here without a ticket or a contract, you would have had to breach the wall and traverse private property. That is a violation of the Law. I believe it’s time we show everyone what happens to criminals who disregard the rules.” 

He whistled shrilly, and began to walk away. Grantaire watching him go in confusion, a sense of dread beginning to settle in his stomach at Javert’s words. The officers and lieutenants in the crowd pushed forward, pulling out batons and rolling up their sleeves. Several of them looked very eager. 

Enjolras, catching on quickly to what was happening, stood and tried to push Grantaire behind him, but a grip on his arm pulled him back harshly. Javert had grabbed him and began to drag him away, ignoring his struggles. He threw him to the Thénardiers, who each held an arm. Though Enjolras tried to pull away, he was already weak. They were abnormally strong for people of their sizes, and Enjolras couldn’t budge. 

Grantaire, meanwhile, put his guitar in the fountain, afraid of damaging it. He knew it probably would have been better to use as a weapon, but it was too dear to him to ever intentionally break it. He rolled up his own sleeves, bending his knees. He’d never been in a real fight before, but by God was he going to defend himself if they came at him now. 

Unfortunately, there was but one of him and about seven officers. 

Once the punches started getting thrown, he didn’t stand a chance.

* * *

When the dust settled, he lay on his back, barely breathing. He could hardly move, and when he tried to his ribcage felt like there was a house being lowered onto it. Obviously something, if not multiple somethings, had broken. Each breath hurt, and he coughed as he almost inhaled his own blood, which was pooling in his mouth. It also poured from his nose and a cut by his eyebrow. His left cheek was bruised to a dark purple already, and it had begun to swell. His face was frozen in a pained scowl, but his knuckles were also bloody with the hits he’d managed to land. Several of the officers were marked with the welts his efforts had left. 

Javert whistled again, and the officers backed away. They left Grantaire in the bloody dust, coughing and panting, gasping for breath as much as he could. Somehow, the broken boy got a hand on the edge of the fountain and used it to pull himself into a sitting position, his legs sprawled out in front of him. 

“That’s enough for one day,” Javert said. He addresses Grantaire. “I would skip town now if I were you, young man. The only thing here for you is more pain.” He motioned to the crowd. “Back to work, everyone. The show is over.”

The crowd began to disperse. The Thénardiers dropped Enjolras, who crawled forward to cup Grantaire’s bloodied cheek with one hand. He looked at his lover remorsefully, knowing this was his fault. Grantaire put his own hand over Enjolras’, his breathing still strained. 

The officers pulled the workers away, and they averted their eyes. 

Clearly, Grantaire had lost. 


	20. If It's True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I also skipped Nothing Changes because it would just be the Thénardiers talking and that ain’t enough for a full chapter. If you would like, here is a small skit of it: 
> 
> M. Thénardier: Life is pointless  
> Grantaire: Tell me something I don't know

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered. “Please. If you stay you’ll only suffer more. Please go. It’s too late for me, but you can go back to the sun. To the flowers. Please.” 

Grantaire was out of tears to cry, but his lip still twitched in that mournful way. “But I will never see you again. You will be stuck here forever. I can’t be happy knowing that.” 

Enjolras pressed his forehead against Grantaire’s. “Please, love. Try.” 

He stood then, letting go of Grantaire’s hand. He stepped backwards before turning away altogether, keeping his eyes in the dust. He had to go to work. To join the others. To forget, to lose himself, to die in every way that mattered. 

Grantaire watched him go, too broken to follow. “Is it true, then?” he asked no one. “Is that it? There’s truly nothing to be done?” He stood on shaky legs, wincing. “The man I love is really gone?” 

Grantaire hadn’t been hopeful, per say, when he came down. But he hadn’t been expecting  _ this _ . He had expected a fight, but not like  _ this _ . He had expected Enjolras to fight harder, to try harder, to really struggle for his freedom. He had been so strong, so fiery. Had he been broken so quickly? 

And with his heart heavy, Grantaire turned to go. He picked up his guitar and limped back the way he had come. It was an unpleasant journey, and he might not be able to make it a second time, but at this point, was he sure he wanted to? What was the world without Enjolras? What was it worth to him? A few more summers before he starved, a few more moons before he froze? 

Grantaire had come down to tell Enjolras to come home. He had come thinking Enjolras would hear him and join him, as he had once. But clearly no one could hear him. He was a nobody in a land of nobodies, and he didn’t make the slightest difference. He was insignificant, and he might as well retreat if that’s all he was worth. 

But a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned, surprised by the sudden contact. He hadn’t heard this boy come up to him. He was dressed in a worker’s uniform, with messy hair and warm brown eyes. His expression, unlike most of his colleagues, was not blank and sad. It was nervousness, but also hope. 

“What is your name?” The man asked. 

“… Grantaire,” he said. 

“I… I didn’t know who I was,” the man said. “But I think… I think I remember now. I was called Courfeyrac, once, before all this.” 

Grantaire looked Courfeyrac up and down, trying to judge what his intentions were. “Why aren’t you working? I thought that’s all you people did.” 

“I… I don’t think I want to work anymore,” Courfeyrac said as though he had only just realized. “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Javert before. You were the first. And I know there were consequences-” he gestured to Grantaire’s extensive injuries, “-But you got me thinking. Why did I let him do that to you? There was a time I’d have clocked him in the jaw if he so much as looked at an innocent man like that.” 

Courfeyrac started walking the other way, beckoning Grantaire to follow him. “Now, I was whispering with some of the other workers, you know. I don’t think I’m the only one who thought that. You know, a friend of mine? Jehan? They didn’t remember themself either. But they know who they are now, because of you. Watching you stand up to Javert, it really reminded them what they fought for once. And another one, Bahorel? I didn’t even know his name, I’d already been lost when he arrived. I just met him, really, today, thanks to you.” 

Grantaire listened to him rattle on and on about his comrades, the ones who had remembered themselves because of him. He kept thinking,  _ Really? Me? I have never made a difference in my life. I really don’t deserve your thanks.  _ But at the same time, it had been him, hadn’t it? It had been him who had stood up to Javert, who had nearly become a martyr because he believed in something? 

Perhaps he could give these people something to believe in, too. 

Courfeyrac led him to a warehouse, assembly lines going from wall to wall inside. Grantaire immediately saw Enjolras at his place, though he didn’t work. He leaned on his knuckles, pressed against the wood of the long table, and hunched his back. He trembled, and Grantaire realized he was quietly crying. 

He rushed to Enjolras’ side and pulled him away from his workplace and into another hug. 

“Grantaire-” Enjolras gasped. “I thought I said you should go-” 

“I don’t care,” Grantaire said into his shoulder. “I’m standing with you, and if I die for it then so be it. I’m not leaving you.” 

Enjolras was surprised, because even after he had walked away from Grantaire, he didn’t forget. It seemed that the spell had been broken, and he remembered everything. It made the work worse, but it made Grantaire’s insistence better. He pulled away from the hug. 

“What are you thinking?” Enjolras asked him. “What can we do?” 

Grantaire pat him on the shoulder once before making his way to the front of the building. “You’ll see.” 

He walked right up to the assembly line and stood up on the long table, knocking over a few unassembled parts. The workers protested feebly and continued their work, but Grantaire kicked their parts aside. 

“Listen, everybody!” he cried. No one looked up. He said it again, but there was still no reaction. 

The officer at the door, who was presumably supposed to be keeping the order in the place, looked at Grantaire with an unreadable expression. When Grantaire met his eyes, he thought at first the man might report him. Then, the man pulled out his gun and Grantaire thought he might shoot him. 

Instead, he fired a shot into the air. It rang out loud in the echoey space, making every worker look up simultaneously. 

“Hey! This guy’s talking!” the officer shouted, pointing at Grantaire. He motioned for the musician to speak. 

Grantaire nodded at him gratefully. “Everyone,” he said loudly. “If it’s true what they say, that you are just drones, workers, mindless and soulless beings, then what is your purpose? To work endlessly? To stay in these factories for all time, even when all the world is conquered, and never even look at each other? Why were you given eyes if not to look at other people? Why, then, were you given backbones? So you could hunch over and take orders? What is the point of it if you never stand up?” 

He walked forward, knocking over more pieces as he went. The workers’ eyes followed him. 

“What is your purpose, if not to be individuals? Why were you given names? Just to forget them? To be turned into numbers, into tools? Why do you accept that?” 

“What other choice is there?” asked a worker in glasses. 

“What other choice?” Courfeyrac joined the conversation, grabbing the spectacled man by his shoulders. “To fight! Do you not remember yourself, Combeferre? We came down here on that train together! Do you not remember who I am?” 

Combeferre blinked a few times before he whispered, “You are Courfeyrac. We came here together.” 

“Yes!” Grantaire cried, pointing to the pair. “You see? If they can remember, all of you can! You have names! You are people! You have voices! You can stand up to Javert!” 

“But how?” another worker asked. “He has told us we are working for a better world. If we do this, aren’t we working against that?” 

“A better world? He told you that, and you believed him?” Enjolras asked. He took a step up and joined Grantaire on top of the table. “Javert told me that too, and I believed him. But, you know what? Who are they to say that? Who is  _ he  _ to tell  _ us  _ what the truth is? The ones who tell the lies are always the ones who claim to speak the truth!” 

“He’s right!” Courfeyrac said. “Who is Javert to tell us what to believe in? He holds all the cards while we toil, and he rigs the game, and we go along with it! No longer, friends! We are the many, and we can make decisions for ourselves! We can choose what to believe!” 

“Do you know what I believe in?” Enjolras roared. “I believe in equality! Liberty! Freedom! I believe in us together, more than anyone alone. I believe we are strong when we can depend on each other, and I believe we are enough to beat him, to escape this hellhole, and to change the world ourselves!”

The crowd cheered, stomping their feet and throwing their parts down, refusing their work. Even the officer had thrown down his gun and taken off his hat and sash. 

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand, smiling. Maybe he hadn’t found it immediately, but he had gotten what he went down there for. 

And Grantaire smiled too, squeezing his lover’s hand, because so had he. 


	21. How Long?

Javert trudged back into his office, putting the whole intruder affair from his mind. He didn’t need to trouble himself with it. It was over and done with, so why was he still thinking about the blood in the dust? Hadn’t it been rightfully spilled? 

No. He had made the best decision he could. If one infraction was tolerated, what was stopping the whole realm from descending into anarchy? If he wasn’t firm, no one would be. He had done what was right. 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a quiet knock on the door, though it was open. Valjean stood in the doorway, a frown printed on his face. 

“What is it, my love?” the inspector asked calmly, sifting through his papers as though nothing had happened. 

“Javert,” Valjean pressed. 

He didn’t look up. “You look distressed. Perhaps you should take a nap.” 

“Javert,” Valjean said again. 

“Eat something? You’re not you when you’re hungry.” 

“What are you afraid of?” 

Javert met his eyes. “What?” 

“He’s just a boy in love.” 

“Are you referring to the musician who broke into my domain? The trespasser, the criminal? Why do you care?” 

“He loves that worker, Javert.” 

“Well, that’s too bad.” 

“He has the kind of love for Enjolras that you and I once had.” 

Javert was stopped in his tracks.  _ Once had? _ Did they not still have that? Just what was Valjean insinuating? “The boy- Enjolras- means nothing to me.” 

“I know. But he means everything to Grantaire,” Valjean pointed out. 

“So?” 

“Let them go.” 

Javert actually chuckled at this suggestion. “Are you crazy? There are rules, my love. To break them is to invite discord into our ranks. I cannot do that, and you know this.” He turned back to his papers. 

Valjean moved closer, standing stiffly in front of his desk. “Javert, my love, you don’t know them like I do. I watched them for six months as they grew fond of each other, as they fell in love. To separate them is to end their worlds. Grantaire was barely surviving before he was given something to live for. Pity him, Javert! For his sorrow will not fit in his chest. It will overflow, and it will burn, Javert. His heart will not survive it. How long will you go on like this?” 

“As long as I am in charge!” Javert roared, flying to his feet and pounding his hands on the desk. “The world is not perfect, Valjean! You may see the good in people but I see the darkness that you cannot. It doesn’t matter how sorry they are, or how miserable. Nothing comes from wishing on stars. Believe me, I know. People won’t be satisfied with what they are given. They will always try to take more. If I let down my guard on just one person, do you think others will stand for it? Before you know it, the streets will be flooded with revolutionaries! Everything I have worked for,  _ we  _ have worked for: lost! And all because of thoughtless kindness.” 

“Your logic is twisted, Javert,” Valjean said, “And Grantaire cares not for it. His aims, despite what you may believe, are not to bring down your kingdom and plunge the world into chaos. He just wants his love back! Is that really something you will deny him? You? Do you have any idea the irony of that?” 

“You have too much pity in you,” Javert said angrily. “I thought it was kindness, but it’s just pity. Pity for everyone, everyone but me. Do you even care for me anymore? You antagonize me, patronize me, and for what? How long will  _ you  _ go on like this?” 

“As long as I am your lover,” Valjean replied coldly. “You were the one to invite me down here. I saw in you the promise of a better world, Javert, but all you have delivered is suffering. And yet you accuse  _ me  _ of being deceitful. You say I don’t love you, that all I want is to leave you for the world above. You know what? Maybe I do want to get away. You have changed, Javert, and not for the better. I don’t know when you will see that, but it is the truth. This isn’t love anymore. I wonder if it ever was. This is an  _ obsession _ , Javert. You are  _ obsessed  _ with me, not in love.” 

Javert took a deep breath, trying not to shout at Valjean. “You are in my kingdom. You will respect me.” 

“You put on a brave face,” Valjean said anyways, “But you are afraid, because you know you are losing me and you don’t know why. Well, I’ll tell you why.  _ This  _ is why. Because you are so obsessed with a better world that you don’t stop for two seconds to realize you are making the world worse.” 

They stared at each other in silence after that, neither of them willing to back off first, before Valjean huffed and stormed out. Javert was left in an uncomfortable solitude. They had never fought before, not truly. He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling. Valjean didn’t know what he was talking about, right? Javert  _ was  _ bringing about a better world. He was bringing order and doling out justice. 

If Valjean couldn’t see that, then perhaps Javert didn’t need him. 


	22. Chant (reprise)

While Javert and Valjean argued, Enjolras and Grantaire walked the streets. Grantaire, guitar in hand, sang out with his special song, and the crowd they had amassed watched in wonder as brown vines and small white flowers, the only things that could grow in such a deep cave, wove their way up buildings and factory walls. Enjolras, at his side, called to the workers to rise up. They were free men, were they not? They deserved as much rights as anyone else. They deserved identities just as much as anyone. 

The workers, though they had been blind and deaf to the world for so long, were awakened by the song. They looked up for the first time in years with their spines popping, unfamiliar to the feeling of standing up straight. 

“Citizens!” Enjolras cried over Grantaire’s singing. “You are free! You deserve freedom! Look up, friends! Your brothers are bleeding, and these walls you hide behind and these guns you build are only furthering the corruption _! Look up! _ Join us! Fight for the freedom of the people!” 

It was not just workers who turned and listened. Officers and lieutenants had joined the march, throwing down their pistols and rifles and ripping the badges off their uniforms. They looked to Grantaire, the first to walk the way down, and to Enjolras, the first to remember, and they saw hope. They saw something to believe in. 

Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and all the rest of the first group kept at Grantaire’s heels, calling to anyone they saw. The sight of their kin standing up for themselves inspired other workers to throw down their tools as well. Soon, nearly all of Hadestown had fallen in line behind the young lovers and joined in their song. Somewhere along the line, Éponine has materialized. She marched with them, a gleam in her eye. 

The singing and chanting did not go unnoticed for long. Javert, sitting in his office and rubbing his temples, looked up when it reached his ears finally. His frown deepened and he stood abruptly, almost knocking his desk over. “What is that infernal noise?” he roared. 

“It’s Grantaire,” Valjean said softly, smiling. Apparently, he had just been standing outside of Javert’s office after storming out. “He’s singing.”

Javert scowled and pushed past Valjean, speeding down the stairs and into the square in front of the train station where that boy and his damned  _ fan base  _ had chosen to gather. He had his guitar in his arms, and Javert could almost feel the music in the air like a mist. Vines were crawling up the walls and- were those  _ flowers _ ? Yes,  _ flowers  _ had somehow found the nerve to grow up through the cracks in the concrete. Javert trampled them with his boots as he walked. 

“ _ Young man, _ ” he fumed once he was in earshot of the boy. A few of his officers had fallen in line behind him, and they clutched their guns tightly in case the crowd should think to react with violence. “Got to hand it to you, I guess you don’t scare easily, huh? You are either very brave or very stupid. Not that it matters. You will be made to face the law, however my lover or my employees feel about it.” 

“Your employees?” Grantaire repeated, pausing his singing. “Is that all they are to you? Workers who do your bidding? It is no wonder they hate you, Javert. You barely see them as human. Everyone is a criminal to you one way or another. No one can follow the law to the letter, not even you. But a convict is more than just a number. Each of these people is an individual, and they deserve freedom.” 

Javert huffed a laugh. “You think so little of me, boy? Take it from an old man who knows what he’s talking about, if you want freedom you must first establish harsh order. I know this better than anyone. This is the storm before the sunlight, and when it is over, peace will come. You think I do not know your suffering, but you are wrong. I was born with scum like you. I am from the gutter too.” 

“You are a liar!” Enjolras said firmly, terrifying in his wrath. He would not hear Grantaire insulted, called  _ scum _ , mocked by someone who had already nearly ground him to dust. “You have no right to say those things to him- you barely have a right to speech, with all the harm you have done through it.” 

Javert, the powerful man that he was, felt himself shrink as he faced the furious, golden Apollo. Still, he could not show it in front of this whole crowd. “Ever the fighter, little finch. You pretend to be so noble. Yet, as I remember,  _ you  _ were the one whose faith was so weak you turned to me for help.” 

“You leave him alone!” Courfeyrac said. “He did not turn to you for anything. You took advantage of his desperation and fed him lies- enough lies that he actually believed you. Surely you cannot fault him for believing in a better world.” 

“You cannot fault any of us,” Combeferre continued. “We were all fooled by you, Javert. But no longer.” 

“We can see past your righteous front now,” Feuilly chimed in. 

“We are no longer fooled. We know that strength does not come from someone in charge,” Joly contributed. 

“Strength comes from us: the people,” Bahorel said. “If we raise our voices, all together, we can drown you out.” 

“We can change our fates; we can change the world, and we don’t need you.” Bossuet nodded, satisfied with his piece. 

“We’ve been digging our own graves from the moment we set foot in this cave,” Jehan said. 

“I think it’s high time we got voices of our own,” haughtily said Montparnasse, the officer who had gotten the attention of the workers in the first factory with his pistol shot. 

Javert chuckled. “You think… what? What? You forget yourselves, all of you. You were individuals, this is true. You had free will, and you had the right to make your own decisions, but do you know what? You gave that up. You all gave it up when you came down and signed those papers. It’s too late for all of you!” He pointed at Grantaire. “You can play all the music you want, but it won’t change a thing. Your song is strong, but mine is stronger.” 

“You don’t sing,” Combeferre pointed out. 

“My city sings for me,” Javert said sourly. “Listen, do you hear it? A simple tune, a steady beat: The music of machinery. That heavy metal sound, of hammer on anvil, that is the symphony of Hadestown. My symphony is of power cords and power lines, of wires all over the world. And you, too, my workers, are a part of that symphony. You are still mine.” 

The faces of some of the workers fell as they remembered who their owner was. 

“But he’s not,” Enjolras said, gesturing to Grantaire. “He is his own, and he has a voice.” 

“And I’m telling you to let them go,” Grantaire agreed. 

“Ah, young man, I’ll tell you what.” Javert shook his head. “You like singing so much? It seems you are quite good at it. Valjean has built up some kind of fondness for you. I’ll give you one chance to change my mind.” He beckoned Grantaire closer. The boy hesitated. “Sing for me. Make me laugh, weep, feel something, and perhaps I will consider your request.” 

Grantaire glanced at Enjolras. The blond had a suspicious look in his eyes, but he squeezed Grantaire’s hand in encouragement. 

Grantaire took a deep breath and picked his guitar back up. 


	23. Epic III

Javert narrowed his eyes at Grantaire. He was certain the boy’s music would not affect him, yet Grantaire’s expression said that he was determined to try. 

His fingers felt over the strings of his instrument as Granataire drew breath after breath, thinking. He looked at Enjolras. His lover’s expression was hopeful, but it made Grantaire falter. He had one chance now. Grantaire, of the two of them, was not a leader. If anything, he was a cynic. It should be Enjolras whose shoulders this weight should rest upon. He was strong enough to take it. Grantaire was not. He was weak and feeble and would fail them all. 

But he readied his voice anyway. 

_ “King of Justice  _

_ King of Law  _

_ Javert was king of the Underworld.”  _

“Oh, it’s about me,” Javert realized. Grantaire paused at Javert’s words, looking uncertain. 

Javert felt a shuffle at his side as Valjean made his way into the square, next to him. Javert turned to him, looking for forgiveness and support, but Valjean kept walking. He walked and walked until he was no longer a part of Javert’s party anymore. He turned and stopped once he stood at the side of Enjolras and Grantaire. 

Javert scowled at him. Valjean gave Grantaire an encouraging smile and motioned for him to continue. 

Valjean’s support solidified Grantaire’s heart. After all, if someone so grand as Valjean could side with him, surely there must be hope. He was newly inspired, and seeing how Javert looked at Valjean, he knew what he would sing about. 

_ “But he fell in love with a generous man,”  _ Grantaire continued, 

_ “Who walked up above _

_ In God’s green fields _

_ He fell in love with Jean Valjean _

_ Who showed kindness to everyone he ever met. ”  _

The words had their intended effect on Javert. His face fell immediately, realizing too late the ammunition he had given Grantaire. 

_ “And I know how it was because…  _

_ Because he was like me _

_ A man  _

_ In love.”  _

Javert narrowed his eyes. Just what did Grantaire think he was getting himself into? He knew nothing of love.  _ Nothing _ . Javert hated him in that moment, hated him for even insinuating that his summer fling was  _ anything  _ akin to his ageless love for Valjean. 

“What makes you think-” he started to growl. 

“Let him finish, Javert,” Valjean warned. 

Grantaire was unfazed. Everyone in the square was enraptured by this song, both by its sweet sound and the anxious waiting to see what would come of it. 

_ “You didn’t know how  _

_ And you didn’t know why _

_ But you knew you believed in everything he was _

_ You saw him there _

_ Shining against the sun _

_ And it was like he was someone you’d always known.  _

_ It was like you were holding the world when you held him,  _

_ Like yours were the arms that the whole world was in.  _

_ There were no words for the way that you felt _

_ But you also knew that you had to show him.”  _

Grantaire paused here, knowing that if he continued with where he was going, he would have passed the point of no return. If he angered Javert now, he risked his wrath. But then again, he wasn’t here to make Javert happy or to please him or bow to him. He had come to challenge him, and that was exactly what he would do. 

_ “You built this place _

_ Of iron and coal _

_ Where the sun never shone _

_ On anyone.  _

_ You shut yourself away from the world _

_ That seemed so dark to you _

_ You shut yourself away _

_ And you took him, too. _

_ And there you stayed _

_ For half of each year _

_ Taking turns in your suffering,  _

_ For neither could be happy at once.”  _

These words changed Javert. He looked away from the singer then and made eye contact with Valjean. His lover’s eyes were beginning to tear up, and he looked defiantly at Javert, both of them knowing it was true. In the summer, Valjean frolicked while Javert mourned at his loss. In the winter, Javert celebrated while Valjean sulked in the darkness. Neither of them could ever be happy together. 

_ “And what has become of the heart of that man, _ ” Grantaire sang, noting the expressions on both of their faces,  _ “Now that the man is a king?  _

_ What has become of the heart of that man _

_ Now that he has everything?  _

_ The more he has,  _

_ The more he holds,  _

_ The greater the weight of the world on his shoulders.  _

_ See how he labors beneath that load _

_ Afraid to look up _

_ And afraid to let go.”  _

Javert no longer felt it in himself to be angry. In that moment he was forced to accept the truth in Grantaire’s words. The boy was perceptive, and he had picked up on Javert’s deepest insecurities. He was afraid, though he hated to admit it. He was  _ so  _ afraid because he felt him grasp on everything he loved slipping. His heart, his whole world, Valjean, whom he loved so dearly, he was losing. He was gripping tighter and tighter to hold on to him, but he was suffocating him at the same time. Yet, he was so,  _ so  _ afraid to let go, because… because he was afraid to  _ lose  _ him. He didn’t trust that their love was enough to keep Valjean with him. He didn’t trust that he was good enough for Valjean to stay of his own free will. He had lost his faith. 

_ “So he keeps his head low _

_ And he keeps his back bent _

_ He’s grown so afraid that he’ll lose what he owns.  _

_ What he doesn’t know  _

_ Is that what he’s defending _

_ Is already gone-”  _

Grantaire cut off suddenly to take a breath, realizing he had gotten carried away in his analysis of Javert and his world. Valjean already had tears running down his cheeks as he struggled to keep a straight face, and Javert’s bottom lip trembled. 

_ “Where is the treasure inside of your chest?” _ Grantaire asked. 

_ “Where is your pleasure? _

_ Where is your youth?  _

_ Where is the man with his arms outstretched _

_ To the man he loves  _

_ With nothing to lose…”  _

Javert held up a hand to silence Grantaire. He had heard enough. “That man is almost gone,” he whispered weakly. 

Valjean stepped closer to Javert, clearing the distance between them. “He doesn’t have to be.” He opened his arms, welcoming Javert. 

He tried to be strong. He did. Javert tried so hard to steel himself, to keep his emotions inside. But the look in Valjean’s eye and the warmth he could feel from his heart  _ broke  _ Javert. He collapsed and fell forward into Valjean’s arms, wrapping his own around the man in a tight, desperate embrace. He broke and he cried, pouring his heart into Valjean’s shoulder as they held each other. 

Everyone fell silent. The only noise to be heard was Javert’s quiet sobbing. Valjean swayed and rocked Javert gently. 

“I’m sorry,” Javert whispered to him. 

“I forgive you,” Valjean replied. “There are no conditions. There is nothing I blame you for.”

And as the two reconciled, another reparation was underway. Enjolras slipped his hand into Grantaire’s and smiled at him. He pulled him aside, away from the crowd, and pressed a kiss to his lips. 


	24. Promises

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said. 

“Yes?” Grantaire asked. 

“You did it,” he said giddily. 

Grantaire smiled back at him. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He paused. “Now what do I do?” 

Enjolras tugged at his hand slightly. “You take me home with you. Let’s go! Let’s go right now!” 

Grantaire didn’t budge. “But… how?” 

“We’ll walk,” Enjolras reasoned. “You already know the way. We’ll just go back how you came.” 

“That’s a long road,” Grantaire warned. “It’s a long walk… and the only place it leads is back to the cold and dark. Are you sure you want to go?” 

Enjolras gave him a ‘duh’ look. “Of course, Grantaire. Why wouldn’t I?” 

“It’s just-” Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t- I don’t have anything for you. I know I said I would believe in you, and I tried, but I’m sure you remember how that worked out. I tried so hard, but I could never give you what you wanted. The song was never finished. I can’t save the world for you. I can’t fix everything. I can only offer my company.” 

“That’s all I ever wanted,” Enjolras said genuinely. “I don’t need you to fix everything magically. I don’t need a hero in shining armor or a savior who accomplishes everything overnight. I just needed someone to stand by my side and follow me. I just needed someone to have faith in me. Don’t promise me that you can make the world perfect with just a song. Don’t promise me that you can change everyone’s mind automatically. Just walk beside me, any way the wind blows; whether good or bad, stay by my side.” 

Grantaire nodded slightly to himself. He supposed that was true. He had been reaching for rather unrealistic goals, hadn’t he? Perhaps there was no magic song that could fix everything. Perhaps he and Enjolras just needed to work for it, and it would happen. 

“What about him?” he asked, gesturing to Javert, who still had not detached himself from Valjean. 

“He’ll let us go,” Enjolras assured him. “Look at him. He can’t say no.” 

“And what about them?” Grantaire continued, gesturing to the workers all around them. 

“We’ll show the way,” Enjolras asserted. “If we can do it, so can they.” 

“And-” Grantaire hesitated, not sure if he should continue that sentence. 

“And what?” 

“And what about us? What are we now?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You… I mean, I don’t blame you or anything, but… you left me. You promised to stay with me, and you left.” Grantaire wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye before it could escape down his cheek, and fought the burn in the back of his throat that threatened all-out sobbing. 

“I-” Enjolras seemed to be at a loss for words, for once. “I… I did. You’re right. And I’m sorry. I thought I could make a difference if I left. I wasn’t going to break my promise, though- I was going to come back, I swear. I just couldn’t bear to watch you tear yourself apart like you were doing. You barely slept. You barely ate. You barely even looked at me. The river froze, the trees were bare, and all the birds disappeared. So me too. I left. I thought I could save you. I was wrong.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Grantaire admitted. “I should have paid more attention to you. I should have supported you instead of ignoring you. I knew, deep down, that you were just looking for allegiance. I thought I could do everything for you, while I should have just encouraged you.” 

Enjolras wrapped Grantaire in a tight hug. “I think that’s enough apologies. Let’s get out of here.” 

They walked, hand in hand, to face Javert. When the inspector noticed them, he reluctantly pried himself off Valjean and looked Grantaire in the eyes. 

“Can we go?” Grantaire asked. 

And Javert answered: “I don’t know.” 


	25. His Kiss, The Riot

“I need to think,” Javert said, pushing his way through the crowd. Despite Valjean grabbing for his hand, he fled to his office and closed the doors behind him, a hand massaging his forehead. 

What was he supposed to do? He had been seen by all those people, crying, looking weak. Everything he had, it all depended on his answer to this boy’s question. Could he let all those people go? Should he just let one go? Should he keep them all? What was the right answer?” 

“Gotta think quick,” said a voice from the window. Javert turned to see the Thénardiers sitting on his windowsill, looking smug. 

“Gotta save face,” Mme. Thénardier echoed. “You are caught between a rock and a hard place, my friend. What are you going to do now that the chips are down?” 

“Go away,” Javert spat. 

“We are just trying to help,” M. Thénardier said, looking faux offended. “Look, the way we see it, you’ve got two options. If you tell the kid no, you’re a heartless man. You’ll be the villain, the antagonist, and everyone will hate you forever. On top of that, you’ll have a martyr on your hands.” 

“But,” said Mme. Thénardier, “If you let him go, you’re a spineless king. You’ll never get the workers in line again. Your authority will be wrecked, your respectability ruined.” 

“I don’t need you to tell that to me,” Javert growled. “I  _ know  _ that already. If you’ve got nothing else to tell me that I don’t already know, just go away.” 

“Well, if you want a little tip, we’ve got one,” Mme. Thénardier said. 

“Men are flawed,” M. Thénardier said. “They are fools, they are frail.” 

“Give them the rope, and they’ll hang themselves,” the two said in unison. 

Javert turned around to face them once again, to ask what that meant, but they were already gone. 

“The devil take this Grantaire,” Javert cured, “And his belladonna kiss. So beautiful, yet so deadly. He has started a riot.” 

Javert rubbed his face again, trying to find a cohesive thought. After all, this was his kingdom. It should be Grantaire who struggled, not he! 

Yes, this was  _ Javert’s  _ kingdom. Everyone who was here had come of their own free will, weather chasing promises or not. They were his children, his people, and they had come to him for help in desperate times. They had wanted organization, order. Now what did they want? Freedom! Anarchy! Rebellion! It was unheard of. 

Had Javert come so far just to fall the entire distance? He was the lord here, and these peasants were threatening him with his own sword. If he was gone, who would keep the order? Who would lead them? 

Javert was the master of plans, of justice, of taking charge. He had given these people a home, work, something to believe in. Why did they need Enjolras and Grantaire to lead them? What made them so special? 

No, it wasn’t just them… it was what they were. They were solid, immovable, courageous. Yes, of course. People were like that, weren’t they? Everyone is braver when they have someone to follow, someone to look to. Enjolras and Grantaire would certainly feel bigger with a crowd stirring them on. They could be the most cowardly being in the world, and they would still seem grand in the safety of a crowd. And their courage was contagious. It spread when each of them had someone to lean upon. But Grantaire- what would happen if he had no one to lean on? Javert could see it: he relied on Enjolras like a backbone. Without his golden boy, would he be so strong? Would he be so brave? 

And just like that, the solution came to Javert. A way to make sure that whatever outcome should occur, he would not be at fault. He would let them go, but they would agree upon some term, some condition… Grantaire would not turn around to see Enjolras, to feel his warmth. With his lover out of sight, Grantaire would go out of his mind. After all, nothing makes a man so bold as his lover standing with him. 

But all alone, his blood would run thin… 

And welcome doubt in. 

“Éponine!” Javert called. 


	26. Wait For Me (reprise)

Éponine came down the stairs with a deep frown. She wrung her hands and she bit her lip. 

The crowd of workers and officers that the rebels had amassed watched and waited anxiously, and when they saw her emerge, everyone drew in an audible breath as they awaited the verdict. 

“What is it?” Enjolras asked. 

“Well, the good news is, he said that you can go,” Éponine said quietly.

The square erupted in cheers. Courfeyrac hugged Combeferre and Feuilly gripped Bahorel by the shoulders and shook him frantically. Jehan shouted triumphantly into the air and threw up their arms, and Bossuet picked Joly up and swung him in a circle in the air. 

“Hey! Hey!” Éponine shouted. “There’s bad news, too, though!” 

The crowd fell silent. though!” 

Grantaire pursed his lips. “What is it?” 

“You can walk,” Éponine said, “But it won’t be like you thought.” 

“What do you mean?” Courfeyrac demanded. 

“Why not?” Combeferre echoed. 

“Well, you won’t be hand in hand or arm in arm or anything,” Éponine explained. She pointed at Grantaire. “He said that you have to walk in the front-” She pointed to everyone else, “-And they have to walk in back.” 

“Why-” Grantaire started. 

“And if you turn to make sure he’s behind you,” Éponine continued, “Then they all go back to Hadestown, and you can’t do a thing about it.” 

“But why?” Enjolras pressed. 

“Why build walls?” Éponine challenged. “Make people walk single file? It’s called divide and conquer, idiots!”

“It’s a trap,” Feuilly realized. 

“It’s a trial,” Éponine corrected. “Look, it’s as simple as this. Do you trust each other?” 

The boys looked at each other, and nodded to her. A chorus of “yes”’s came from the crowd. 

“Do you trust yourselves?” 

“Yes,” they said a bit more hesitantly. 

“Well then, you’re going to have to prove it in front of everyone if you want to walk out of here. Can you do that?” 

“We can,” Grantaire said. 

Éponine tugged her thatch hat more tightly on her head. “Alright, if you say so. It’s time to go, then.” 

“Wait, Éponine…” Grantaire grabbed her arm. “It’s really not a trick?” 

“No. Like I said,” Éponine whispered, “It’s a test.” 

Éponine led Grantaire, Enjolras, and everyone else to the hole in the wall Grantaire had made when he first entered Hadestown. There were ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s at the size of the crater, but all Grantaire could see was the darkness that waited for him. He knew the way, but he also knew how hard it had been to traverse downhill. To go back up? Forget everyone else, he might not make it. 

“Grantaire, remember,” Éponine said, “The road looks hard, but that’s not the real obstacle here.” 

“What is?” 

Éponine poked his forehead with a finger. “Your own mind, silly. The road here may seem hard, but the one inside your own head is much harder. Just… keep the faith, okay? You can do this.” 

Grantaire nodded to her gratefully, and she was gone. 

One last time before setting off, Grantaire turned to Enjolras. His lover’s face, for once, was frightened. The darkness of the path was reflected in his eyes, and though his mouth was steeled into a straight line his hands shook. 

“You can do this,” Enjolras said anyways. “We can do this.” 

“Then I’m going to go now,” Grantaire said, his voice trembling. “That is… If you’ll permit it.” 

Enjolras simply smiled at him, and took his hand. Grantaire kissed Enjolras’ knuckles, and looked into his eyes, trying to memorize his face. He had no idea how long it would be until he saw it again. 

Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he turned around. Though he did not let go of Enjolras’ hand, he felt his lover’s finger slip from his own, and suddenly he was alone. 

He set off. 

* * *

Javert was in his office. He sat back into his broad chair and breathed deeply, glad the whole affair was over. 

Valjean rapped gently on the doorframe. “Javert?” 

Javert looked up and waved him in. “Enter, my love.” 

Valjean took the seat across from Javert. “Do you think they’ll make it?” 

“I don’t know,” Javert answered honestly. 

“Javert, you let them go,” Valjean said bewilderedly, as though he could hardly believe it. 

“I let them try,” Javert corrected him. 

“And what about us?” Valjean asked. Javert raised an eyebrow. “What are we now? I said things that you might have trouble forgiving, Javert. But I think you are changing again. For the better, this time. I think we can try again. Do you?” 

Javert looked at the calendar he kept on the wall. “It’s nearly time for spring. We’ll try again next fall, love,” he said sadly. 

“Wait for me?” Valjean asked hopefully. 

“I will,” Javert promised. “And I’m sorry.” 

“You already said that.” 

“But I didn’t say for what.” Javert rubbed his chin, struggling to find the words he wanted. “You were right. I was obsessed with you. I treated you like an object that belonged to me. I got jealous, because you seemed so happy up in the sun and so glum around me. I was jealous because you liked  _ them  _ better. But I had no right to be jealous. You can make your own choices, and you chose to join me here year after year. So, you’re right, it was an obsession, but it’s because I can’t live without you. And now, you’ve opened my eyes to that, so I’m going to try to be better. I think the rest of the world deserves the light you bring to my life.” 

Valjean smiled wearily but lovingly at Javert. “Thank you.”

* * *

Grantaire cleared the first part of the cave easily. The dogs were nowhere to be seen, thankfully, which meant he could go as slowly and carefully as he wanted. He was mapping out the way he had come down, trying to remember everything he had faced and would now have to face again, only the reverse.

The almost-maze that was in the largest cavern was relatively easy. He remembered the way Éponine had shown him, and he soon came to the circular entrance to the smaller tunnel. If he focused, he could hear the footsteps of the hundreds of people following him up. He might be going the harder way this time, but at least he wasn’t alone. 

The tunnel narrowed the farther they went, and Grantaire focused on what was ahead. His instincts were telling him to turn around and make sure the others were still behind you, but he knew that would be their downfall. They were only minutes into this journey. He had a ways to go before he could see them all again. 

Enjolras followed Grantaire, never falling more than five feet behind him. Combeferre was behind him, and then Courfeyrac, and so on, everyone falling in line. Enjolras planted his feet solidly in the stone, keeping his eyes on Grantaire. He wished he could put a hand out to steady him every time he saw his ankle shake or his heel slip. He knew Grantaire was already tired. He probably hadn’t had anything to eat or drink, and he’d taken a serious beating not hours before. Keeping his help to himself was going to be the hardest part of this journey. 

“You can do this Grantaire,” Enjolras said, not knowing if Grantaire could hear him, but willing to try. He stamped his feet as hard as he could on the stone so Grantaire might hear his footsteps. Even if Grantaire couldn’t turn around, Enjolras could do everything he could to make sure his lover knew he was there. “I’m coming, wait for me. I’m right behind you. You are not alone. We are all still here, and the stones will echo our footsteps as we follow. We’re coming.” 

“I don’t think he can hear you,” Combeferre said. 

“I don’t care,” Enjolras replied. “I have to try.” 

The tunnel became curvy and thin, and Grantaire leaned against the wall for support when he could. His guitar was still strapped to his back, and he knew that should all else fail he could use a song to keep his spirits up. But he would save that for the last. 

When the rise started to get steeper and the rock floor turned to black pebble sand, Grantaire used his arms to grip the sides and keep him upright. Would the others mind if he took a short break? He was exhausted already, and they had such a long way to go. 

_ No breaks,  _ a voice said in his head.  _ If you stop they will lose faith. They will doubt that you even know the way.  _

So Grantaire kept going, staggering across the harder areas and breathing heavily when he could finally walk straight. He listened. Those were footsteps, right? Footsteps behind him? They were still there. 

Grantaire came to the place where the incline started to go straight up in a twisted cave system. The holes in the rock were small, and he worried that not everyone might fit. But he had, hadn’t he? If he could do it, so could Enjolras, and if Enjolras could, then so could the rest of their friends. But they could only do it if he showed them how. So he had to lead the way. 

_ Who are you to lead them? _ The voice said again. He recognized it as Mme. Thénardier.  _ You’re no leader. You’re a nobody. Who are you to think you’re any better than them?  _

He ignored her. 

He started to climb. “If this seems hard, you’ve not seen anything yet,” Grantaire said with a weak laugh, mostly for their benefit. He didn’t know if they could hear him, but he had to try. “But don’t worry. I’m going to get us out of here.” 

He kept climbing. 


	27. Doubt Comes In

He kept climbing. He kept going and going, pulling himself through the smallest of cracks in the stone, but trying to aim for the larger ones to the others would have an easier time getting through. At first he made comments as he went, like “Watch out for the lightbulbs, they burn” and “If you can, hold on to the yellower parts of the stone, they’re rougher than the gray stone and offer better grip”, but after a while he was too out of breath to think say anything else. He listened for the others, but the only thing he could hear was his own breathing and his heart thumping in his chest. 

But no- that was someone else’s breathing, right? Yes, he could hear someone breathing not in tune with his own. He prayed it wasn’t just an echo. It had to be Enjolras and the others. He was not alone. 

He hummed to himself every so often, trying to remind himself of the flowers and sunlight he was leading the others towards. He thought about the wind on his face and food in his belly, and he kept going. 

The Thénardiers did not shut up. Their voices bounced around in his head, and however he tried to ignore them, he could not tune the voices out forever. 

_ Who are you? Why are you walking all alone?  _

_ The wind is changing, boy. You won’t be able to keep this up much longer.  _

_ You’re only headed back up to the cold and dark. Is all this really worth it?  _

_ Why in God’s name would they follow you? Who are you that they would put so much faith in you? They’ve turned around, little one. You’re alone.  _

_ I’m not,  _ Grantaire thought. 

_ Then where is he?  _

Grantaire hesitated. He wanted to turn around, to see where Enjolras was so he could have an answer to the question, but if he turned all was lost. 

_ Where is he now?  _

_ Nowhere to be found _ , Grantaire’s doubt answered. _ Because I’m alone. Because I’m not the leader, Enjolras is. I can’t lead anyone. They won’t have followed me. _ After all, without Enjolras by his side he was a nobody. He needed Enjolras’ light to shine, and he was all dark now. 

Enjolras could not hear the voices, of course. He was struggling too, but he never fell far behind Grantaire. He never stopped talking, either. 

“Grantaire, are you listening to me? We are all right here,” he said. 

“Right behind you, yep,” repeated the others behind him. Though Enjolras talked the most, the others chimed in every so often. 

The workers had been passing news up the line like a game of telephone, reporting to Enjolras on who was still with them. Apparently, some people had turned back, unable to keep up this pace or unwilling to make the climb. 

Enjolras would not turn around. Not for anything. 

“We’re all right behind you,” he said. “We have been all along, and we will be until the end. The darkest night comes right before the spring. We will make it out of this.” 

Feuilly whispered something in Courfeyrac’s ear. “Enjolras, we lost two more,” Courfeyrac whispered darkly. They whispered so that if Grantaire could hear, he wouldn’t hear that they were losing people. 

“We still have to keep going,” Enjolras ordered. 

Grantaire could not, in fact, hear anything they said. He listened closely just in case, but at this point, he could not even hear breathing. He held his breath to listen, and was met with silence. 

_ That’s because they’re not there, _ he thought. 

_ But Enjolras would be, _ another, brighter voice said. God, this felt like he was arguing with himself.  _ Enjolras would not leave you.  _

The Thénardiers’ voices were finally gone, but perhaps that was because they knew that their goal had been accomplished. They had sown a seed of doubt in Grantaire’s mind, and that doubt would do their job for them. 

_ And Javert?  _ Grantaire’s doubt said.  _ Who are you against him? Éponine said this was a trap, right? Didn’t she?  _

Grantaire couldn’t remember what exactly Éponine had said. Something about a trap, though. The doubting voice was right about that. He had been climbing for hours, scrambling towards the promise of sunlight, yet he didn’t hear anyone behind him. Was that magic, too? Or was that just because Javert had tricked him into leaving alone? Could Enjolras still be down there, screaming at Grantaire because he had just walked off without him? 

_ He  _ would  _ do something like that. Javert would never just let you all go. He’s not that understanding. Why wouldn’t he deceive you?  _

“Stop doubting yourself!” Grantaire yelled, banging the heel of his hand against his forehead. He looked up and saw an opening. 

_ We’re almost there _ , he thought. He was right. Soon, the cave would open back up and they would come to the ramp, then the staircase, then the outside world. They were  _ so close _ . 

He lost focus and slipped, falling a few feet. He yelped and grabbed for a hand-hold, narrowly stopping his fall and nearly ripping his arm out of its socket. 

He had fallen… why hadn’t he fallen into something? If Enjolras was right behind him, shouldn’t he have stopped Grantaire’s fall? Why had he been forced to catch himself?

_ Because there’s no one behind you. Javert tricked you. You’re a fool, a nobody, and you failed.  _

Enjolras heard Grantaire yell at himself, and he shouted back, “No, Grantaire, you cannot doubt yourself! You can do this! You are not alone! I am right behind you! We all are!” 

“We have been all along, mate,” Courfeyrac called. 

“Aye, what he said,” said Combeferre. “We’re not going anywhere, except maybe topside.”

“We are almost there,” Enjolras said. “You can do this.” 

Grantaire slipped and fell. Enjolras had tried to stay five feet behind him, but in the tight tunnels, he had ended up much farther than he had intended. Enjolras threw his hands up to catch Grantaire, but the musician caught himself only inches away from Enjolras’ arms. 

“Is everything alright up there?” Joly called from far below. 

“Yeah, he just slipped a bit,” Bahorel said. “We’re still okay.” 

“Maybe not,” Bossuet’s voice said unsurely. He whispered something to Jehan, who whispered it to Feuilly, and so on until it reached Combeferre. 

“We’re the only ones left,” Combeferre said sadly. 

“What?” Enjolras demanded. 

“It’s just the nine of us,” Combeferre clarified. “Everyone else has turned around.”

Enjolras thought about that for a moment before saying, “Then we have to make sure we stay with him no matter what.” 

Grantaire pulled himself up slowly, grunting at the effort it took. He breathed heavily as he threw his chest and arms over a bit of rock and let his own meager weight hold him up while he rested. 

When he caught most of his breath, he pushed himself up all the way and narrowly stopped himself from looking behind him at all the way he’d just travelled. 

_ It wouldn’t make a difference if you did, _ his doubt said.  _ No one’s there anyways _ . 

“A song will drown you out,” Grantaire whispered to himself, pulling his guitar in front of himself to play a short something. 

To his utter despair, the strings were snapped. They must have broken at some point during the climb, and he hadn’t heard. 

“Dammit,  _ dammit _ ,” he cursed under his breath. This was the only guitar he owned, and he would never be able to afford another one. Would he ever be able to play music again? “Think about that later,” he said. “Right now, stairs.” 

He trudged forward, focusing on the sound of his breathing and his footsteps. The only sounds he heard. The only footsteps, the only breathing… the only one walking… 

_ Oh, God. I’m alone, aren’t I?  _

The stairs became less steep the farther he went. They became less irregular, and though his muscles burned, Grantaire thought he could see the outline of the light through the trapdoor ahead. The air was getting cooler, and it was a welcome change. He breathed deeply, wiping sweat from his brow. 

_ You’re the only one feeling the cold. You’re alone. There’s no one behind you. You got duped. You failed.  _

Grantaire stopped in his tracks. If he left now, he would never be allowed to come back. The way would be closed. If he really had been fooled, he’d never get another opportunity to try again. If he walked out now, he would never come back. 

He was almost there. He was practically  _ already  _ there. No one would know if he just peeked, would they? It would hardly count. He’d  _ basically  _ already won. If he looked, it would just be to make sure the game was fair. No one could fault him on that, could they? 

Enjolras followed Grantaire up the stairs, panting, but never stopping his encouragement. “You’re almost there, Grantaire. You’re so close. I can feel the cool, I can see the light. I know you can too. You are not alone. I’m right here, right behind you. Please, keep going, you’re almost the-”

Grantaire turned around.

* * *

Enjolras was right there. Not five feet behind Grantaire stood the blond leader, dirt and dust smeared over his face and light reflected weakly in his eyes. 

Grantaire felt his knees buckle and the breath leave his lungs. He took a ghost step towards his lover. 

“It’s you,” he whispered. 

Enjolras nodded as a tear rolled down his cheek. “It’s me.” 

“Please, wait-” 

Thénardier appeared behind Enjolras and smiled at Grantaire wickedly. He wrapped an arm around Enjolras’ neck and pulled him back, back down, back into the dark. Enjolras struggled but Thénardier moved too fast for it to make a difference. In seconds, they were both gone. Grantaire rushed down the stairs after them both, but the light bulbs had all gone dim. He stumbled in the dark, trying to follow the path he had just come, to go back down and get his lover back, but there was a stone wall blocking the way he had come. He felt around it desperately, his breath coming in short gasps as he held back the tears that threatened to spill over. If he cried now, it would be real. 

_ Oh God. This is my fault. I turned around. Oh God, oh God-  _

The passage was definitely a dead end. It hadn’t been seconds ago, but now it was clear there was no way down. The way was shut. 

“No, no, no no no,” he cried, his voice shaking. He hit the stone wall with his fist, not even feeling the jagged rock cut his skin. “No!  _ No _ ! Let me back in! I’ll try again, I’ll do it right this time, I’m sorry! Let me try again!  _ Please _ !” 

The wall did not budge. 


	28. We Raise Our Cups

Grantaire banged on that wall for hours, forgetting his hunger and his exhaustion. The light of the sun turned into the light of the moon, and his voice grew hoarse until he could no longer whisper, much less shout. He sank to his knees at some point in the night, huddling against the wall and shivering, unwilling to leave it or Enjolras. 

He had come  _ so close.  _

How could he have failed? 

After he was close to death of cold, hunger, and sleep deprivation, two figures wandered down the tunnel and into the darkness. Éponine had told Marius and Cosette about Grantaire, and as concerned friends do, they went to find him and bring him home. Marius threw one of Grantaire’s arms over his shoulders and began to carry him out. Grantaire was too weak to resist, and he no longer had any motivation to fight. He leaned towards the wall even as they lifted him, perhaps clinging to some hope that if he stayed there long enough Enjolras would emerge, saying “It was all a joke, you passed the test, we can go home now.” 

Marius and Cosette carried Grantaire back to their home. Cosette had gotten over her illness, and she stayed by Grantaire’s side as the two nursed Grantaire back to health as best they could. They kept him warm and forced him to eat. They paid a craftsman to repair his guitar, but when they presented it to him, he would not accept it. He did not speak a word to them. He spent most of his time in sleep. 

One day, when they left to get him food, they returned to an empty bed. Grantaire had gone while they were away, and his guitar was gone as well. They searched the town for him, but he was nowhere to be found. 

That is where the story ends. It is a sad story, but it’s meant to be a tragedy. Feel free to read it again, as if it might turn out different a second or third time through. But a happy ending is not the point. The point is that Grantaire tried even in the dead of winter, in the darkest night, and he was willing to fight for what he believed in. People like that are rare. Wherever he is now, Grantaire is still fighting. I’m sure of it. 


End file.
